Pay For Things Unspoken
by CharWright5
Summary: Kendall has been in love with his best friend as long as he could remember. Only problem, his best friend is a guy & he knows there's no room for being gay in the NHL. So when he finally gets the chance to tell James how he feels, he chickens out. 5 years later and the twosome have lost touch, making Kendall realize the words you don't say affect you more than the ones you do.
1. Prologue

_**A/N: **__My first full-length BTR fic on here (shocker, it's slash), so please lemme know whatcha think. Also, I do not own BTR (if I did, shit would be going a lot differently), they are properties of whoever. The NHL/AHL are properties of themselves, as well as the Minnesota Wild. Please don't sue, I do all this outta respect (sorta). Story rated for language, references to underage drinking (in this chapter), and sex in later chapters._

* * *

Kendall Knight stood on the back deck, resting his forearms on the railing, staring out at the spacious backyard. A red plastic cup was in his right hand, nothing in it, contents having already been drained what felt like hours ago, although it was probably only a couple minutes. Either way, he didn't feel like going back inside for a refill.

The party was still rocking inside the huge house, practically everyone wasted, except for the few designated drivers. And him. It wasn't that he didn't wanna get drunk-hell, getting smashed off his ass sounded like a damn good idea-he just couldn't be motivated to actually go do it.

He let out a deep sigh, staring out at the green grass but not really seeing any of it. He knew the plain as well as he knew his own backyard, having spent countless days there, playing frisbee, running around, having water fights, countless stupid childish antics with his three best friends. The four of them had been inseparable for over a decade, having met in elementary school. He could barely remember a time when he didn't have them in his life and every major memory, every milestone, every huge moment in his life, they were there experiencing it with him.

Including their high school graduation.

Kendall's eyes fell to his empty cup and he found himself wishing he'd bothered to get more. Anything to shut his brain off.

He knew he shouldn't be thinking that way, knew he shouldn't be focusing so far in the future. After all, they still had the summer. Or at least a couple of them did. And he knew this time would be coming. His mom had told him countless times that there'd come a day when they had to move on, when they'd be torn apart, when life would come between them and no friendship, no matter how close, would survive. He'd rolled his green eyes, given her a placating "uh huh", and dealt with her sighs, not wanting to actually think about it. It hurt too much.

But now, on that back deck, his friends and former classmates partying inside, he was thinking about it _too_ much. He knew graduating meant he'd be an adult and that he had to spread his wings, live his own life, go out and see the world on his own. But he'd always experienced things with his three friends, he'd always had them around. They had his back and he had theirs. But soon that safety net would be gone and he'd be alone.

And that wasn't the worst part of it all.

The door opened and Kendall knew without looking exactly who it was. Truthfully, chances were it would be one of three people and, yeah, that made it easier to guess, but he still knew, without a shadow of a doubt, which one of them was behind him.

"Hey, buddy!" James Diamond's voice came from his left, the taller male leaning down onto the railing like Kendall. "Whatcha doing?"

The dirty blond male stared out in front of him, shrugging. He'd come outside to be left alone, wanting to be away from all the loud, crazy, drunk people to sulk. He'd already cursed at a couple of smashed idiots who wandered out here, laughing loudly, scaring them back inside. He just wanted to be by himself, not have to deal with anyone or anything.

But with James, it was different. Kendall didn't yell at him, get aggravated that the shaggy haired male was bugging him. It was pretty hard to be mad at James in all honesty. The guy had a pure heart, always had the best intentions with everything he did, never meaning to hurt anyone, not even a fly. He was kind, sweet, warm, and all things good in the world. Which was probably why Kendall was hopelessly in love with him.

'Course he never told James that. The guy was straighter than a ruler, not to mention one of his best friends. Shit would just get incredibly awkward and fucked up. No way would he be able to handle the rejection of his closest buddy telling him he didn't love him that way, that he was happier flirting with pretty much every female out there. The blond didn't think their friendship was strong enough to survive a confession like that, followed by him having to watch the brunet hook up with a constant stream of girls.

Plus, there was hockey. Kendall lived and breathed the sport and knew that it was what he wanted to do for the rest of his life. But hockey was a man's sport, a tough one, one were you were constantly pounded against walls, shoved to the ground, punched in the face. Being gay-if that's what he even was-would seem like a weakness. Opponents would target him more frequently than they already did-which was pretty damn often, considering how good a player he was-in a more accepted form of gay bashing. Plus who knew how his teammates would react. They may be uncomfortable having to change in front of a homosexual in the locker room. Sure, being teammates meant you loved and accepted everyone like brothers, but at a certain point you had to draw a line and just say no.

So for all those reasons, Kendall kept his mouth shut and his feelings hidden, not telling anyone, especially not James.

"So," the taller male started, hazel eyes trained on the blond. "Why aren't you inside with everyone else?"

There were a couple reasons really, none of which Kendall wanted to get into. He'd been lamenting the dissolution of his friendships pretty much since they threw their caps in the air at the end of their graduation ceremony earlier that afternoon. But seeing James dancing on top of his dad's coffee table with a girl on either side of him, grinding together, grabbing each other, it was too much. He had to get out, had to get some air, had to be left the hell alone.

But of course, James had to come check on him.

He gave another shrug, trying to play it all off, trying to act like nothing was bothering him. But a raised eyebrow from the brunet meant he wasn't buying the nonchalant attitude of the blond.

Elbow on the railing, Kendall rubbed the back of his head, smoothing down his dirty blond hair. "I just can't believe this is our last night hanging out all four of us."

James' smile faded, brow furrowing as his face grew serious, head turning to face forward and look out at his dad's backyard. "Yeah. Guess I didn't really think of that."

"How could you not?" Kendall questioned, dropping his hand so it was hanging off the other side of the railing. "You're leaving for LA tomorrow."

The taller male nodded, still staring ahead at nothing. It hadn't been a secret that James was dying to become a huge pop star. The guy was constantly singing, to the point where the only way to get him to shut up was to have their friend Carlos Garcia tackle him. And while he loved hockey and was good at it, music had always been his first love and dream career, just like the sport was for Kendall. Now that they were out of school and James was eighteen, there was nothing holding him back anymore. He was headed to Hollywood to try and achieve his dream and make it happen.

The blond kept talking. "Then Logan leaves for Yale this fall to start his pre-med shit. Carlos? Well, I dunno what Carlos will be doing."

The shaggy haired one let out a small laugh. "I don't think Carlos knows what he's doing."

The blond let out a similar laugh, nodding in agreement as he stared straight ahead again. "Yeah, true."

"What about you, huh?" James questioned, nudging Kendall with his elbow. "You make it sound like you're gonna be stuck here all your life and we're just leaving you."

"You kinda are."

"Right, but you're leaving, too. Watch. You'll get drafted this summer-" Kendall snorted. James ignored it and kept going. "-then you'll be off to play in the AHL or wherever, then in a couple years, you'll be playing center for the Wild, just like you always dreamed."

Kendall tilted his head down and looked at his empty cup once again, wanting so bad to believe James. It wasn't that he doubted his skills, because he didn't. He knew he belonged on the ice, knew he was a great shot, great passer, great blocker, everything. He was better on the ice than on land, practically born to play hockey. But getting drafted right out of high school was a rare occasion, and he wasn't entirely sure he was _that_ good. Worst case scenario, he'd get passed by and would end up going to the University of Minnesota as his fallback plan.

But god he wanted to play in the NHL, about as badly as he wanted the male standing next to him. The male who would be leaving him.

Reaching his free hand up, he rubbed the center of his chest, feeling the space get tight, his heart hurting. Out of all his best friends, he knew he'd miss James the most. It was pretty obvious why, considering the insanely huge crush Kendall had on him. And now? Now the man who could possibly be the love of his life was headed to the other side of the country, all before they could ever give it a shot.

He thought of the old quote, one that floated around every sport out there: "_You miss one-hundred percent of the shots you don't take_." And he clearly hadn't taken a shot with James.

Maybe this was it. Maybe this was the perfect moment, he mused. After all, he'd be leaving, so if the other male didn't feel the same way, there was no awkwardness, no weirdness, no having to look him in the face and know he was turned down, feelings unreciprocated. And the time apart would help Kendall, allow his broken heart to heal, allow him to get over the tanned male to his left.

Internally nodding, he decided this was it, the moment was perfect. It was just the two of them, their final night hanging out for who the fuck knew how long. And if it got weird, Kendall could blame the alcohol. Turning his head to the side, he opened his mouth to speak-

Only to be interrupted by the final piece of their quartet, Logan Mitchell.

"Uh, James? Carlos is literally hanging from your chandelier in only his graduation gown. And it's open. And he's scaring people."

James pushed himself up straight, letting out a swear under his breath. "My step-mom would flip a bitch if something happens to that chandelier."

Logan headed back inside, rambling about how he told Carlos not to do it, but he was too drunk and too hyper and never listens in the first place. Jame shoved a hand through his shaggy hair, letting out a sigh as he walked across the deck to follow the shorter male in.

Kendall felt a slight panic build up inside, knowing this was it, this was his last chance to say something to James about how he felt. Spinning around, he called the other man's name, waiting and watching as the taller male stopped and turned around, expectation all over his face.

The blond just stood there, the words on the tip of his tongue. But as he looked at the other male's perfect features, his hazel-green eyes, his full lips, and his t-shirt that was so tight it should be illegal, he lost his nerve.

He shoved his hands in the pockets of his jeans, shrugging and shaking his head. "I'm gonna miss you, man."

James scoffed and rolled his eyes. "Duh! Who wouldn't?" He smiled widely before turning and heading inside.

The blond male let out a harsh sigh as he turned back to the railing, resting his elbows on it, hands shoved in his hair. He blew it. He fucking blew it bad. His one chance to tell the guy how he felt and all he did was say he was gonna miss him. The fuck was that? He really was a pussy. His ass was gonna get smeared all over the ice, even without telling anyone he might be gay.

Heavy footsteps on the wooden deck caused his head to jerk up, a hand wrapping around his wrist. James jerked him up and into a hug, arms going around Kendall's lean frame. The blond stood there frozen for a moment in shock before finally snapping out of it, hugging his best friend back. It was everything he wanted, to be held by the taller male, to feel those muscles against him, to inhale his scent. And now that he had it, he wanted more.

"I'll miss you, too." The brunet's voice was low, but Kendall heard every syllable, his eyes closing and his throat swallowing hard. He was finally getting what he wanted-to a degree-and it was at the end. Sure, there was no guarantee that this was it, that they'd completely lose touch and never speak again, but it was definitely gonna get harder for them to keep in contact and maintain the close friendship they had.

James patted Kendall on the back a couple times before pulling away, his hands on the other male's shoulders. "You're gonna get drafted and I'm gonna be jumping up and down on my couch. And if I'm not there at your NHL debut, you can bet your ass I'll be watching on TV, wearing your team's shirt, cheering my fucking heart out."

A smile spread across the blond's face, causing his dimples to form on his cheeks. "Thanks, man. I believe you."

"Good." James clapped Kendall's shoulder. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I gotta get a crazy guy off my step-mom's chandelier before we all die a painful death."

"Good luck, man."

"Thanks." One last smile, and James left, heading back inside his dad's house once again.

Kendall took another deep breath, letting it out on a sigh, getting back in his previous position of leaning against the railing. Maybe it was for the best that James didn't know. Maybe it was for the best James was leaving. He thought back to his earlier mental musings, about how being away from James would help him get over the brunet, help him move on. Maybe he could do that anyway without having to confess anything. It would be safer that way. They could live their lives out in peace without anything changing, without any awkwardness or weirdness.

His heart hurt again, but he ignored it. As much as it killed him inside to keep everything bottled up, it was for the best. At least that's what he would tell himself at night.

Mind set, he pushed away from the railing and headed inside, determined to have fun his last night with his four friends. He knew shit was gonna change come tomorrow. Only he had no idea how much.


	2. Chapter 1

**~*~FIVE YEARS LATER~*~**

James stood by the microwave, arms folded over his broad chest, hazel eyes focused on the bag of popcorn currently spinning around in the appliance. Tonight was a big night, a _huge_ one. His best friend from back home was finally making his NHL debut.

All right, so they hadn't talked since James left for LA. It was hard to keep in touch when you were living in your car, then he got signed and was basically thrown into the hurricane of recording his debut album, touring and promoting. His second album had been released a year and a half ago, bringing about more touring. It was his first night back in his apartment at the Palm Woods complex and the first time he felt like he could actually take it easy.

That being said, home or not, he wasn't missing this fucking game for the world.

"Don't burn the popcorn this time," came a male voice from the couch to his right. James turned his head to see his other best friend and roommate Logan sitting in the corner of the bright orange L shaped couch, text book on his lap.

The taller male rolled his eyes. "One time I burned it. One time."

"Yeah, and the apartment smelled for a week. Bitters thought you'd set the place on fire."

More eye rolling as he turned back to the microwave, keeping an ear on the popping. Logan could be a total mom at times. "Pick up your shit. Put that away. Can't you put dishes _in_ the dishwasher? Turn the TV down, I'm tryna study." Total fucking nag. But James loved having him around. He may not have said it-expressing himself in actual words rather than lyrics wasn't exactly his thing-but he was glad Logan had transferred from Yale to UCLA. Although he wasn't about to kid himself about the shorter male's reasoning for the change.

The reason that was currently coming into the apartment without knocking, as was her thing.

Camille Roberts was the first friend James made when he moved into the building where his management team had gotten him an apartment to stay at, literally walking right up to the tall male and slapping him across the face before screaming at him about cheating on her with her best friend Trish. Someone had to explain to him that she was a method actress and did random crazy shit like that all the time. She still walked around in costume and slapped him from time to time, but less frequently. She seemed to enjoy slapping Logan a lot more.

Logan had met Camille a couple months before, when he came to LA to visit James, Logan on spring break, James between tours. It was more or less love at first slap for them, to the point where Logan moved out after finishing his first year of med school, deciding to finish up out west. James teased that he made the switch because he couldn't live without the taller male. Logan just rolled his eyes, as was his usual way of dealing with the younger male's egotistical comments.

"Hey!" James greeted the lone female in the apartment, turning to glare and point a finger. "Who said you could come in here?"

She held up a plastic bag, smug smile on her face. "I brought beer."

James dropped his hand. "You can stay."

The smug smile grew as she headed into the kitchen area, flip flops smacking the hardwood floors loudly. Opening the sub-zero fridge, she pulled the two six-packs she'd purchased out the plastic bag, placing them inside the cooling unit.

The popping slowed and James pulled the bag out the microwave, careful so he wasn't burning his fingers. He pulled it open, turning around to dump it in the huge bowl that already contained another bag of the snack. His eyes glanced over at Camille as she put the now empty plastic bag in the trash, seeing she wasn't in a costume or wacky outfit. Just simple black shorts and dark green t-shirt with the Minnesota "Wild Animal" logo, curly hair in a low side braid.

He raised an eyebrow. "Where'd you get the shirt?" he questioned, knowing she wasn't into sports. When he was home, he was usually stuck watching hockey by himself. Well, until Logan moved in. He'd been on tour all summer though, so he'd missed the Stanley Cup playoffs. But it was October now, the start of a brand new season, and he was about to watch his homestate team play their first game, with one of his best friends and his best friend's girl. Who still wasn't a hockey fan.

She shrugged, going back into the fridge and pulling three cans off the plastic rings. "Went to five different sports stores today looking for it. Figured I should be wearing one to fit in with you guys."

The eyebrow stayed raised as Logan joined the conversation. "Since when do you care about fitting in?"

Another shrug as she flip-flip-fliped over to the living room, putting the drinks on the table before sitting on Logan's left. She pulled her knees close to her body, curling up against him. "Just thought it'd be fun for once."

The spikey haired brunet stuck his bottom lip out, shrugging, his face saying he bought the explanation. 'Course he'd probably buy anything Camille sold him. Logan may have been the brain of the group, the more logical one, the one who didn't do anything without overthinking it for several hours-which annoyed the fuck outta James-but when it came to his girlfriend, he tended to just go with the flow. Which James loved. He loved that she was able to get his buddy out of his shell, get him to do something new, get him to have fun for once in his boring, studious life. And it worked the other way around, Logan calming the eccentric and out there Camille, but not completely changing her to where she was unrecognizable from her old self. She still showed up in random costumes, completely in character, and given how Logan's eyes would darken and his eyebrows would raise, he clearly had no problem with it.

Costume fetish much?

James stopped that train of thought before it left the station. No way was he gonna think about his friends' sex life, especially when he hadn't gotten laid in-he'd rather not think how long. It was probably only a month or so, but that still seemed like a long ass time, having never gone that length of time without getting any since he'd started fucking. Whatever. He had a hand and lotion. He was fine. For now.

He grabbed the big green bowl overflowing with popcorn and carried it over to the living room, flopping down on Logan's right. His eyebrow raised once again as he took in the text book still on his friend's lap. "Dude, are you seriously gonna be reading all night?"

"No," the smaller male's voice practically rolled his eyes for him. "I just wanna finish this chapter before the game starts." James did roll his eyes, right before Logan looked up at him. "Hey, did you know-"

"Don't care," the taller male interrupted, shoving a handful of popcorn in his mouth.

Logan sighed-whether it was at James' lack of table manners or his rudeness, the younger male wasn't sure-then went back to reading.

"Don't hog all the popcorn," Camille stated, reaching out for the bowl.

James grabbed another handful before passing it over, still chewing what was in his mouth, watching as she put the bowl on her lap and delicately put a piece of popcorn in her mouth. Such a chick way to eat, but he had to admit, it was pretty cool of her to go out and get a Wild shirt then join them for the game.

He looked down at his own light grey Wild shirt, the sleeves having been cut off years ago-because when you had arms like his, you didn't hide them with fabric-then over at Logan and his old New Town High Hockey tee. Logan hadn't been the best hockey player in the entire world, only playing because they had talked him into it, forever complaining that he "needed to get new friends" and never following through. But they had fun. It was the four of them against the world-or at least the opposing team-and some of James' best high school memories involved Logan, Carlos, Kendall, and hockey, whether playing or watching.

But sitting there, he felt like a huge piece of things was missing. Sure, Brainiac was there, and Camille was great and he truly did love her like a sister, but it still wasn't right to not have the other two guys there. Kendall obviously couldn't be there, since he was playing in the game, but it would've been awesome to have Carlos fighting over the popcorn with him, hyped up and drunk off his ass, bouncing on the couch when something exciting happened, pouting and yelling when the refs made a shit call. Yeah, the small Latino boy was a bundle of energy and there was no one more fun to watch a game with than him.

Reaching into the pocket of his sweatpants, James pulled out his iPhone, quickly typing up a text and sending it to the other male.

'_Wish you were here._'

Putting the phone down next to him on the couch, he decided he wasn't gonna let missing Carlos get him down. He knew moving to LA meant he'd be leaving his three best buds behind, knew he'd probably lose contact with them, knew their friendship wouldn't be the way it had been. Sure, he had Logan back in his life, and he exchanged texts and emails with Carlos pretty frequently, but it wasn't the same as it had been. He was expecting it. He may have been slow at times, but he wasn't a complete dumbass and knew that one day, there'd come a time when his three best friends weren't in his life anymore. Didn't mean it sucked any less, but life was like that. No matter how much you think something's gonna happen, life will do its own thing, something he'd grown to know better than anything else over the past few years.

His phone buzzed and he picked it up, reading the reply Carlos had sent.

'_No. You wish YOU were HERE!_'

James' eyebrow raised again, muttering out a "fuck does that mean?" as he typed those exact words.

Logan closed his text book, putting it on the coffee table as he turned to the larger male. "What was that?"

"I sent 'Litos a text saying 'wish you were here', cause I do. It would be rad to have everyone together to watch Kendall play. And he sent one back saying 'you wish_ you_ were_ here_'."

Confusion overtook the elder male's face, brow furrowing. "Where the hell is he that's so great?"

James' phone buzzed and he looked to see he had a picture message, one of the Wild's rink, showing the back of the player's jerseys as they sat on the bench. "Motherfucker has seats behind the bench!"

"No way!" Logan leaned over, trying to see the screen, James tilting it to give his friend a better view. "Son of a bitch."

"Hey, check out the weirdo in the helmet behind the players," Camille commented, eyes on the screen, oblivious to the guys' conversation. "Does he not know he's not playing?"

James and Logan snapped their heads to the flatscreen TV screwed to the wall above the fireplace. A shot of the "behind the glass" reporter interviewing one of the Wild players took up the screen, but neither male focused on it. Instead, they stared right at the Latino male in the background, one who was waving madly at the camera before slapping his hand on his helmet clad head twice.

"Motherfucker," James muttered out his earlier sentiment. "How'd he score seats that good?"

"Kendall must've hooked him up." Logan didn't bother saying the "duh" part out loud.

The taller male rolled his eyes, stealing the popcorn bowl back from Camille, ignoring her protesting "hey!" He shoved another handful in his mouth, pouting as he slouched on the couch, legs spread wide. He would've killed to be at the game in person, to be in the crowd, cheering, screaming, cursing out the refs, pumping up his best friend. His best friend he'd barely spoken to in five years.

More popcorn got shoved in his mouth.

Logan snatched the bowl away, muttering something about butter and his heart. James didn't know; he wasn't paying attention. Never did when the smaller male went on rambling about sciency stuff. Instead, he just leaned forward, grabbed a beer, and slammed back against the couch, opening the tab with one hand.

Camille tilted her head up as she remained snuggle against Logan, one of his arms around her, bowl on his lap. "You still coming out to dinner with me tomorrow night, right?"

He inhaled sharply, mouth forming an "o". "Can't. Gotta go to a lecture, worth a third of my grade this semester."

"You promised." She pouted at him, looking pathetic.

James rolled his eyes, glad he didn't have a girlfriend. Sure, he slutted around in high school, and for some time after, but he was never interested in anything serious. He just wanted to have some fun. His dad seemed to approve of it, his step-mom not really commenting on it. And while his mom never said anything out loud, he knew she wanted him to find one nice girl, settle down, get married, have kids, all that shit. She'd already lost out on him taking over her cosmetics business. He was sure she wasn't about to lose the battle of James being a family man either.

"I know, I know," Logan replied to his girlfriend, pressing his lips to her hair as his fingers lightly went up and down her arm. "We'll just go some other day."

"But I made reservations. I can't just back out."

"I'll go with you," James volunteered, causing the couple to turn their heads to him. He held his hands up in innocence. "Just as friends."

Camille shrugged, tilting her head up to look at Logan. He mimicked her shoulder action. "I'm okay with it." He looked down at her. "You?"

"Eh, why not? My agent says I need to get out there and be spotted more since the show's becoming more popular. Capitalize on the fame and all that, maybe get more publicity for it."

"All right, then it's settle. You and James go out tomorrow, then you and I can go out sometime this weekend."

"Sounds good." She smiled up at him before lifting her head slightly, he meeting her halfway to kiss her.

James rolled his eyes and turned back to the screen, not needing to see any of the coupley bullshit. He had to admit, it would've been nice to have someone to cuddle with at the moment, if for no other reason than to not feel like such a third wheel. 'Course they had to be into hockey. No fucking way could he date a non-hockey fan.

The game started, a whistle blowing and the puck being dropped. Shuffling around so he was comfy, he reached over and grabbed popcorn from where the bowl was still on Logan's lap, only popping a few pieces in his mouth this time. He wasn't gonna think about the couple to his left, his friend at the game in St Paul, or the fact that he'd barely spoken to his other friend who was actually iin/i the game. He was just gonna enjoy his favorite sport, enjoy time with the friends who were there, and most of all, enjoy his time off.


	3. Chapter 2

_**A/N:**__ Okay, I know there's no Twitter or Tumblr in the BTR showverse, but I have artistic license, this is my fic, I'll do what I want. Also the little at-symbol won't show up on here (god that's annoying) so you'll just hafta pretend that they're there._

_Coach Yeo is the actual head coach of the Minnesota Wild, but all players (who will be introduced in later chapters) are my own original characters, minus Jett Stetson, who is property of BTR, Scott Fellows, and Nickelodeon (don't sue!). Minnesota Wild, Xcel Energy Center, and the NHL are all properties of the NHL (don't sue me either!), I'm just using the names._

_That being said, I love writing hockey action scenes. So much fun! Enjoy the chapter!_

* * *

Xcel Energy Center was buzzing, the feel in the arena electric, and Kendall could feel it right down to his very core. Sure, playing hockey in Minnesota-a state that lives and breathes the sport-meant he dealt with excited atmospheres and intense situations, but it had never been on that level. Which made sense, considering this was his first NHL game.

The crowd had screamed their heads off when his name was announced, centering the third line, a rookie with all the potential in the world. His rise to the premiere league had been chronicled all over Wild fansites, Twitter, Tumblr, even through the Wild Organization itself. But nothing had prepared him for actually putting on the uniform and skating over the logo in the center of the rink.

And the energy was just as intense on the bench, too. Teammates were screaming, coaches yelling, fans banging the glass. And they were winning, too. Kendall figured that was the cause of the excitement and the high intensity and vaguely wondered what it would be like if they were down two goals, instead of up. He hoped he'd never have to find out.

"Third line!" Coach Yeo yelled at his bench. "Get ready!"

Kendall stood up, stick in hand, adjusting his helmet as it slightly tilted down in the front. He threw a leg over the boards, waiting as the other players skated off the ice, using the door to get onto the bench. He and the other members of his line climb over the short wall, skating out to the middle of the rink.

He watched a member of the Stars-their opponent that night-use his stick to bring the puck out of their own zone, charging towards the center of the ice. Kendall turned and headed towards the Minnesota goal, prepared to defend it. Sure, defensemen might've been bigger, wider, taller than Kendall, but he didn't give a shit. He was prepared for the pain, prepared to take a hit-or seventy-prepared to be hit by pucks and sticks and elbows and fists. It was hockey and that was what make it so great to play. Besides, his role as center meant he had to be a two-way player, not just shooting or passing the puck to the wingers, but also help on defense, checking the opponents, stealing the puck away, blocking shots. And he was good at it all.

Using his speed, he watched the puck as it was passed to another Star, who crossed the blue line into the Wild's zone. Turning and skating backwards, he kept his eye on the small rubber disc, seeing it get passed again to a player on the same side of the ice as him. The player lifted his stick back, preparing for a slapshot.

Kendall got right in the way of the puck.

The frozen rubber hit his stomach, ricocheting off to the right, where one of his teammates, Jett Stetson, grabbed it in mid-air, putting it on the ice in front of himself. No time to recover, Kendall skated to the other end of the ice, using his speed, creating a two-on-one situation against a lonely Star player. Luckily the adrenaline pumping in his system meant he didn't even feel the pain from the puck hitting him. He knew he'd feel it later though, but shoved the thought from his mind. He had to focus.

Jett kept his head down as he charged towards the goal, getting the attention of the padded male guarding the net. The goalie skated to Jett's side, crouching down, shifting his weight so he was prepared no matter which way the male tried to shoot it.

Only instead, Jett passed the puck to Kendall.

The rookie didn't hesitate, one-timing the puck and shooting it right in the open space the goalie had left. The rubber disc hit the back of the net and bounced out, a horn going off, the red lamp above the glass a few feet behind the goal lighting up, ref to the side of the goal pointing to the net to signal it was good.

"Fuck yeah!" Kendall screamed out, fist flying up in the air, as his momentum carried him over to the rounded corner of the rink. His four teammates who were on the ice with him skated over, slamming him against the boards in a group hug. The crowd had erupted, the "Crowd Chant" blasting through the speakers, everyone screaming the "Hey!"s and "Whoa-oh-oh-oh-oh-oh!"s along with it.

A huge stupid grin was plastered on his face as he skated over to the bench, teammates following, fist bumping down the line of fellow Wild players still on the bench. He fucking loved scoring. There was no greater feeling in the world than knowing you helped your team. And the fact that he just scored his first NHL goal in his first NHL game, it made the feeling even more intense, even more exciting.

Using the door, he stepped up and sat on the bench, scooting down to make room for the other players. Words of congrats and pats on the back were given to him, his coach patting his shoulder and telling him he did great. And all the while, that stupid grin stayed on his face.

"Good job, Rook," Jett leaned over and told him as he sat on Kendall's left. "Maybe one day you'll be as good as me."

Kendall rolled his eyes, knowing fully well how egotistical Jett could be, having trained with the team over the summer. But if there was one thing he knew, it was how to deal with big heads, having practically grown up with a guy who had a huge one.

Not that he ever thought of that guy.

Or was allowing himself to think of that guy at that moment in time.

Grabbing a bottle from the rack in front of him, he squirted Gatorade in his mouth, swishing it around before spitting it out. His focus was supposed to be on the game, on what was happening on the ice, on what his coaches were barking out behind him.

Shutting everything else off, he did exactly that.

* * *

The locker room after the game was the same buzz of energy, only more tightly compacted to a small space. Cheers and yells bounced off the mahogany walls, someone promising to take the goalie out for a beer or five for the shutout he earned, another making lewd jokes about finding someone to celebrate the victory with.

Kendall just laughed, same stupid smile plastered on his face as he headed over to his wide wooden locker. His helmet and gloves were already turned in to the equipment manager, the same with everyone else's. He sat on his seat, leaning down to untie his skates, slipping them off. It felt weird to be on flat feet again and he knew it'd take a while for his legs to adjust, but that was part of the game.

His hand went up to his head, sweeping his sweaty, dirty blond hair back from his face. He'd gotten it cut a few days before, almost feeling like his first game was the first day of school, and that he needed to be presentable. So he had the sides of his head pretty much buzzed, the top and back left somewhat long, almost like a dead mohawk of sorts. He knew his mom was gonna hate it, but he didn't care. He was twenty-three, had his own job, his own place-that he shared with someone else but still-he can pick his own damn haircut.

He managed to get his jersey unclipped and off then remove his chest, shoulder, and elbow pads before the media swarmed in. He answered all their questions with a smile on his face, dimples on display, trying to enjoy the moment. It was fucking surreal. For so long he'd dreamt about this moment, dreamt about what it'd be like to play in the NHL, to score a goal, to help his team out. And now he was living it. He almost felt like he had to pinch himself in a way, unable to fully believe it. Maybe it just hadn't sunk in yet, his adrenaline still pumping through his system.

The cameras and voice recorders left, off to interview his teammates. Kendall rose up from his seat, legs aching from the work-out he'd just put 'em through. He may not have spent more than twenty minutes on the ice, but with the amount of moving and balancing on skates required, it was more than enough to exercise his muscles.

A post-game Gatorade sat on his shelf and he wasted no time opening it up and chugging half of it down. It was cold, especially against his overheated body, and he could practically feel it go down his throat into his stomach. But he didn't give a shit. He needed it. He was tired, thirsty, and in need of some protein.

Thirst temporarily quenched, he screwed the cap back on and put it where he found it, seeing something familiar next to it. A hockey puck. Only with white tape wrapped around and writing done with black Sharpie.

"_Kendall Knight, first NHL goal._"

His earlier smile returned as he sank back down onto his chair, eyes glued to the writing, reading it over and over as he turned the puck in his fingers. It was real. And he had the proof.

But as it further sunk in, a strange hollowness set up shop in his chest. He was alone in this celebration. Sure, he had Carlos, the two of them renting an apartment in St Paul, but it wasn't the same. His mom and Katie were still back in New Town. Logan was off at school, at UCLA randomly enough. And James? Well, he was off being a rockstar somewhere.

He swallowed hard at the remembrance of the tall male, thinking back to their last real conversation.

_"And if I'm not there at your NHL debut, you can bet your ass I'll be watching on TV, wearing your team's shirt, cheering my fucking heart out._"

Kendall had no doubt the taller male had done exactly that, that he probably broke a couch bouncing up and down on it, a hotel room trashed, neighbors complaining about the noise. He was just like that. Granted he wasn't as bad as Carlos, but when it came to hockey, he was pretty fucking intense. Even more so when it came to his friends playing.

A sad sigh left him as his head dropped, hand rubbing the back of his neck, feeling the sweat still on his skin. He was a shit friend. If he was even a friend anymore. He was pretty fucking positive that the past five years wouldn't have changed anything for James, that the brunet would still be supporting him, still be one of Kendall's biggest fans. But Kendall hadn't been all that supportive of James and his career, mostly because he'd been avoiding the elder male. It was pretty easy, considering neither really hadn't the time to talk that much. But every time James had a show in Minnesota, he always texted Kendall to see if he wanted to go, asking if he needed tickets and/or passes. And Kendall always said no.

It's not that he didn't wanna go. He would've loved to. He would've loved to support his childhood friend, to escape the rigors of hockey for a night and just have fun doing something else that didn't involve ice and pucks. But he knew it would be a bad fucking idea. He needed to avoid all things James, needed to stay away from him. It was easier on his heart that way.

He stood up and put the puck where he'd found it, smearing a hand over his face. Five years later and he still loved the guy as much as he had back in high school. Clearly "outta sight outta mind" wasn't working, his feelings leaning more towards the "absence makes the heart grow fonder" cliche. Which fucking sucked on several levels. He wasn't anywhere near the object of his affection, nor had he done anything except exchange a few short text messages here and there over the course of half a decade. Plus, the guy was not only not interested in Kendall, but he was still straight. Zero fucking chance.

But as much as he told himself to just get over James, the blond couldn't. He kept clinging on, refusing to let go of James, of what he felt for the other male. His crush-if that's what it was-had been there for so long, it felt like an actual part of him, like his green eyes or his dimples or the cleft in his chin. It was just...there. Always.

And didn't that just fucking suck.

He let out another harsh sigh before unlocking his small cupboard, pulling out his cell phone. He checked his text messages, seeing a proud one from his mom full of typos, most likely due to her crying. Typical. His sister had text him, congratulating him on not sucking. Also typical. Next was from Carlos, all in caps, full of swears and "OMFG"s. Once again, typical. Fourth text was from Logan, another congrats, this one well thought out, causing Kendall to practically hear the brunet's voice in his head as he read it.

But nothing from the brunet he really wanted to hear from.

Face falling, he check his last message, a Twitter alert, one from someone who's tweets he'd purposely set to be sent to his cell.

"_OfficialJDiamond: Shout out to my boy KKnight13 for his first NHL goal in his first game! Send him some congrats, tweeps! #MNWild_"

The stupid smile crept back onto his face as he favorited the tweet, right before he got a new text.

"_Awesome game today, dude. And yeah, I was cheering on my couch in my Wild shirt. You're welcome ;) -JD_"

His smile got bigger as he quickly text back.

"_Thanks. Had a feeling you would be_."

"Knight, get your smelly ass in the shower! You're stinking up the locker room!" Jett's voice called out. Kendall replied with a simple flip of his middle finger, phone vibrating once again.

"_Always will be._"

Kendall closed the text out with a sigh, putting his cell back as he finished stripping off his game gear. Yeah, getting over James was definitely gonna be easier said that done.


	4. Chapter 3

It was a little after midnight by the time Kendall got home. He let out a sigh as he unlocked and opened the door to his apartment, body aching as he entered. The familiar guitar riff of the "SportsCenter" theme greeted him, his roommate clearly still awake, most likely waiting for him to come home. He braced himself for an attack.

He shut and locked the door, putting the chain on, hearing the sounds of his roomie getting up from the couch and running through. Typical. Kendall felt like he'd been dragged behind a truck for eighteen miles, while Carlos was up and running around. Benefits of being a gym teacher, the blond figured. You get to be around sports, but not have to play and get wore out.

The small Latino appeared in front of the taller male, huge smile plastered on his face, as per usual. Only it seemed to be bigger somehow, dark eyes shining bright. If the lankier male didn't know any better, he could've sworn the smaller male had just played in his first professional game and not himself.

"Dude!" he was practically yelling, volume control not exactly Carlos' thing. "That was _awesome_! What was it like? You gotta tell me all about it."

A small amused smile played on Kendall's lips as he walked further in, heading past Carlos and into the living room. His favorite chair beckoned him, an oversized black leather recliner his mom had let him take from their house when he and Carlos had moved into their apartment their junior year of college. He loved it. She just wanted it gone.

Being careful not to hurt any already aching muscles, Kendall carefully lowered himself onto it, pulling the handle at the side to make the footrest pop out. He arranged himself comfortably on it, kicking his sneakers off, wincing when he put his hand on his stomach. He'd been right about getting bruised by the puck. He had a three-inch welt in the middle of his abdomen now.

Carlos flopped onto the couch, sock covered feet on the end by Kendall, arms folded behind his head, propped up on the arm of the couch. Expectation was all over his face, eyebrows raised, smile still there. He was like a little kid waiting for his parent to tell them a bedtime story and Kendall felt the urge to get him cookies and milk as a late night snack. He'd always felt a need to watch over Carlos, his role as team captain following him off the ice. Which was weird, because Carlos was actually older. Not that it mattered. Kendall was kind of a caretaker, always had been pretty much since his dad had bailed. It was bound to transfer over to taking care of his friends.

"So?" Carlos prompted, still waiting.

A sleepy smile played on Kendall's lips, dimples making an appearance once more. "It was awesome," he stated. "The biggest rush ever. I mean, you remember when we took on East for the finals our senior year?"

"Yeah."

"Times that by about twenty million and you still won't be close."

Carlos' dark eyes went wide. "Whoa!"

"Yeah."

"That's awesome!"

Kendall nodded, agreeing with the smaller male. He still couldn't think of a word that fully encompassed all of what it was like to actually have his dream come true, to be able to put on a Wild jersey and play in the NHL. But "awesome" seemed to come somewhat close. Sounded better than "supercalifragilisticexpialid ocious."

"You get to keep the puck?"

The blond didn't even need to question what puck he was talking about. He just pulled it out the front pocket of his jeans, the tape still wrapped around, like it always would be. The realization that he needed to get a display case for it passed through his mind, but he figured he could just deal with it tomorrow. He was too tired at that moment, plus all the shops were closed and it's not like there was a real rush for it. Nothing was gonna happen to it overnight.

"Can I see it?"

The taller male nodded, carefully tossing it over to the smaller one, who caught it with both hands. Carlos turned it over, looking at both sides of the rubber disc before reading the writing on it.

"Man," he breathed out. "It's, like, real now, ya know? I mean, yeah, I knew you were eventually gonna play in the NHL 'cause you got drafted, but, like, to actually be at a game and see you on the ice and then to hold this puck, it just makes it _more_ real."

The blond nodded, understanding what the dark haired male was saying. "Yeah, I getcha. Dunno if it's sunk in for me yet."

"It will when you see yourself on the 'SportsCenter' highlights. Oh, and 'NHL Tonight'! Man, you're gonna be on TV! I mean, you already were 'cause the game was televised, but ya know what I mean."

Another nod as Kendall rubbed his tired eyes. Fatigue had hit him pretty much as soon as he sat on the recliner, his body slowly starting to give in to the exhaustion of his night. Adrenaline and excitement had kept him going during the interviews and his drive home. But now, both were gone, and all he wanted to do was crawl between his sheets and crash.

"I'm hitting the hay," he stated as he sat up, using his legs to slam the footrest back in place. He stood, taking a couple steps over to his friend, hand outstretched.

Carlos put the puck in the taller male's hand without being asked, folding his arms behind his head once more. "I'm gonna stay up a li'l while longer. Not tired yet. Plus tomorrow's Saturday." A smirk formed on his face. Kendall had thought Carlos was crazy for signing up for a lifetime of early mornings and more time at a school, until the smaller male had pointed out weekends and summer vacation. The blond conceded the point.

With a wave and a nod, Kendall wished his friend a good night, before turning and heading to his bedroom, located by the wall behind the couch. He shut the door, putting the puck, his phone, and his wallet on his nightstand. Then he stripped off the t-shirt and jeans he'd changed into after his shower and added them to the pile of clothes he'd created on a chair in the corner. Whatever, it was all clean anyway. He just couldn't be bothered to put any of it away.

His socks were last to come off, leaving him in just his boxers, then he laid on bed, pulling his comforter over him. He hadn't bothered flipping the light on so there was no need to switch it off.

Laying on his back, head on his pillow, he stared up at his white ceiling, mind going a million miles an hour. His body might've been worn out, but clearly his brain had energy to burn.

Reaching over, he grabbed his cell, holding it up and pulling up a text he'd already read twice.

"_Always will be._"

James had no idea how much those three words meant to Kendall, mostly because the blond had never let the brunet know how much the male himself meant to him. They were almost as good as those other three words that were constantly brought up when it came to relationships, words he knew he'd never hear from the taller male. At least not aimed at him.

With a sigh, he put his iPhone back where it had been, rolling over onto his side and closing his eyes. He dreamt of a world where James was his, in exactly the way he wanted him to be, the two of them together in his bed celebrating his goal.

He woke up feeling sad and empty.


	5. Chapter 4

_**A/N:**__ I know the Palm Woods isn't an apartment complex, but a long stay hotel, but in this fic, it's apartments. Deal with it :) The CW Network is property of itself, I just used the name in a brief mention. TMZ is also property of itself-Harvey I know you're a lawyer, don't sue._

* * *

James stood in front of the mirror in the bathroom, checking his hair once more, running his lucky comb through his dark brown locks. He'd gotten a trim earlier that morning, the sides and back cropped short, the top left long, bangs covering his forehead. He was always fussy about his hair-well, fussy about his looks, period, but his hair always seemed to be the most important. As he got older, he had loosened up some, no longer so freaked out by getting a trim every now and then, especially now that he kept it short rather than the shaggy type 'do he had in high school.

Satisfied with how his hair looked, he stuck his comb in the back of his tight designer jeans, feeling it slide along his wallet. Next he smoothed down his white button down shirt, feeling his abdominals underneath the cotton, then straightened his skinny tie. One more spray of his 'Cuda man spray and he was good to go.

He switched off the light as he exited the bathroom, stepping right into the kitchen. The apartment he lived in fucking rocked, from its state of the art entertainment unit-complete with every game system known to man-to its swirly slide, to the shelves of dinosaurs, action figures, and robots outside the hallway that led to the bedrooms. But the single bathroom definitely left a lot to be desired.

Whatever. He was gonna own five houses one day. The only reason why he didn't so far was because he hadn't had time to go house hunting. Although being home on break to make his new album, seemed like an opportune time. He wondered if Logan would help out, if he'd wanna move in with the popstar. Maybe even Camille. He'd get a big enough house to where the couple could have their own wing and make as much noise as they wanted to while fucking, leaving James in peace.

He was sure the entire Palm Woods Apartment Complex would appreciate that.

Rounding the counter, he left the kitchen, seeing Logan on the couch, huge text book on his lap, as per usual. James flopped down next to his friend, crossing his ankles as he put his feet on the coffee table, boots landing with a loud "thud" on the wood.

The smaller male took a deep breath, not moving his head, eyes glued to the shoes on the furniture. He hated when James did it, and the younger male knew that. It was part of the reason why he kept doing it.

But instead of nagging, Logan simply lifted his head and met the other male's eyes. "You smell like a French whore house."

James snorted. "Whore houses _wish_ they smelled as good as me," he stated, arms outstretched on the back of the sofa.

As predicted, the elder male rolled his eyes. "You look nice for someone going out to dinner with a _friend_."

The younger male gave the elder a "c'mon, get serious" look. There was no way he was pulling anything with Camille. He didn't see the girl that way. Sure, she was fun to hang out with and had proven to be an awesome friend over the past five years, but James wanted nothing even remotely sexual or romantic with her. He knew for a fact it was possible to be just friends with a member of the opposite sex, and that's exactly what he was.

"I can't look nice for a dinner out?"

Logan shrugged, trying to play it off. But James knew the truth. Logan was a novice when it came to relationships. Sure, he'd been on a few dates-mostly doubles with James-but he'd never had a serious girlfriend. Until Camille. So he was bound to be suspicious, bound to have some jealousy issues. The taller male wish he wouldn't, it would make both their lives easier. But there was nothing he could do, other than let Logan adjust and figure it out for himself.

"Look, dude," James started. "Nothing is going on between me and Camille. It's just dinner as _just friends_."

The smaller male nodded. "I know. I know. I just. Well, when was the last time you actually had a date?"

He quirked an eyebrow at that. "Now _you're_ giving me shit about my romance life?"

Logan actually looked slightly flustered as he shrugged and shook his head, stuttering a bit. "I-I was just saying, it's been a while since you've been out with someone. You never hear or read about you going out to dinner with anyone."

"Exactly," James replied, tone serious. "Every time I go out, there's paparazzi. And even if it's my first time going out with that person, all the headlines are saying we're in a relationship. I don't wanna subject anyone else to that kinda pressure just to grab a bite to eat. So I do all my dates on the downlow, where no one knows or hears about 'em."

The smaller male's brows furrowed, confusion in his brown eyes. "You date on the downlow?"

The larger male smirked. "Man has needs." He winked.

"Right. And when exactly was the last time you _fulfilled_ these needs?"

"This morning in the shower. Went lefty this time, just for a change."

"_You jacked off in our shower?!_" His voice had raised a couple octaves, whether in shock or disgust, the singer had no idea. But he was amused as hell.

"Like I said," he stated nonchalantly, acting like he hadn't just divulged a small tidbit in his slightly dried up sex life. "Man has needs."

Logan continued to sit there looking offended as the door opened, Camille walking in. "What's wrong with him?" she questioned as she pointed to her boyfriend, closing the door behind herself. James looked up to see her in a blue halter dress, black tights covering her slim legs, a black jacket draped over her arm.

"Turns out Nicholson was right. Logan can't handle the truth." James patted his friend's knee before putting his feet on the floor and standing up. He pulled up his pants from where they'd slipped down, adjusting his shirt around his waist, and turned to his female friend. "Ready to go?"

"Yeah, lemme just say goodbye to Tom Cruise over here."

"Not a problem." The singer stepped out of the way, allowing her to pass, before remembering he needed to grab his keys and cell from his room. Quick check of the messages to see he had none and he put his iPhone in his left pocket, keys in the right. He stood around waiting for another minute or so, puffing up his cheeks and blowing out the air slowly. Goodbyes for Logan and Camille meant a lot of tongue action and he wasn't exactly in the mood to deal with that.

"James! You ready?!" Camille's voice reached him in his room.

"Yep!" he called back, turning off his light as he left.

Back in the living room, he saw Logan's mouth and cheeks covered in red kiss marks, Camille's lipstick now slightly lighter in shade. Yeah, the younger male had figured that would happen. Always did.

"Might wanna wash your face before you leave, buddy," he told the elder male as he and the lone female headed towards the door.

"Yep." Logan sounded and looked dazed as he gave his friend the thumbs up.

James just snorted a little, rolling his eyes, amused smirk on his face. Hand on Camille's back, he gently led her out the apartment, on their way to dinner.

* * *

The restaurant was one of those fancy, celeb filled places in the Thirty Mile Zone, which explained to James why Camille was so deadset on going with her reservations that night. Rescheduling would've meant another month wait. And while he was a platinum artist and she was on a popular teen drama on the CW, he didn't think they had quite enough pull to be able to get a new reservation sooner rather than later.

Their meal was fucking delicious though, James pigging out on quite possibly the best steak he'd ever had and a salad that rivaled Logan's-who, in the taller male's opinion, made the greatest salads ever in the history of great salads. Conversation was really good, too, the pair exchanging stories and catching up on all they had missed while he was on tour. It was a great time, their hour filled with laughter and delicious food, and James loved every minute of it. She'd always been an amazing friend and hanging out, just the two of them, was always fun.

They spent an hour there before deciding to head back to the Palm Woods. James, being the gentleman that he was, helped Camille put her jacket on before leading her towards the main entrance with a hand on her lower back. He handed his plastic tag over to the valet, the two of them waiting for his car to be pulled around.

"Great," she groaned as she slumped, sticking her hip out. "Paparazzi's out there."

He looked around her, through the glass doors, seeing she was right. A swarm of photogs were out there, with both video and still shot cameras, all with a hope of getting a good picture to sell to some media outlet.

Personally, he had no issues with the paps, mainly because he hadn't had that much experience with them. His first encounter was with a camera guy from TMZ outside his NYC hotel when he was doing promo for his first album and he'd had several run-ins with them over the past few years. Nothing too dangerous, none of them overly pushy or aggressive, none of them violent or rude. He hadn't attracted the kind of mob currently outside the restaurant and he knew he wasn't on quite the Kim Kardashian level on paparazzi coverage, which was probably why he never really minded when they took pics or video of him out and about in LA.

That, plus he was admittedly a camera whore.

But clearly Camille didn't like them. Or at least she didn't seem to like them at that moment.

"Don't worry, Camille," he told her, wrapping an arm around her shoulders, looking down at her as he whispered loudly and overdramatically. "I'll protect you."

She played along, a hand on her forehead as she acted like a damsel in distress. "My hero!"

They both laughed as the valet returned, handing James his keys. The singer thanked him before taking his friend's hand in his. He held it behind him, leading her out the restaurant.

The paparazzi yelled their names as flashes went off. James showed off his million dollar smile, waving with his free hand, asking the paps how they were doing, if they were having a good night. He figured if he was nice and friendly to them, they'd be more respectful towards him. After all, being angry and belligerent only resulted in being treated the same way.

Camille wasn't as friendly, preferring to hide behind James' back, hands curled around his arm as she walked as close to him as possible. He squeezed her hand with his own, letting her know he had her, that he wouldn't let anything happen to her. She squeezed back.

The twosome made their way through the throng of photogs, James opening the passenger side door when they reached his silver Corvette. He kept a protective arm around Camille as she walked around him, using his hand to help her sit in his low sports car. He closed the door, rounding the engine and giving one last wave before he got in behind the wheel, quickly buckling his seat belt and starting the vehicle. He pulled away from the curb, mindful of traffic, and headed off in the direction of the Palm Woods.

"You all right?" he asked his friend after a few silent moments, glancing over.

Her arms were folded over her chest, but she wasn't mad or upset. Her face was flat, no hint as to what she was thinking or feeling, and James wasn't surprised she was an actress. She was damn good at hiding shit. Except when it came to Logan. Or maybe Logan was just that smart he could figure her out, at least sometimes. There were still occasions where even the self-proclaimed genius was confused about her behavior. But that was girls for ya.

"I'm fine," she stated, her voice its normal pitch and tone. "I just hate those guys. I became an actress because I love it, love being someone else for a li'l while, love getting to play make believe and dress up. I didn't become one in order to have camera shoved in my face when I'm out with friends and my privacy invaded at all times."

James nodded, one hand hanging over the top of the steering wheel, other stroking his hair forward, elbow on the door. He knew exactly what Camille meant. All right, so he wanted the fame that came with being a musician. He wanted the girls screaming his name, wanted the adoration, wanted people kissing his feet or his ass or whatever other body part they felt like putting their lips on. He dreamt of having five houses, touring the world, playing sold out shows. He longed for his face on the cover of magazines, riding in limos everywhere, his name in lights.

But he also wanted to keep his privacy. He wanted to keep some things to himself. He thought of his "dates" that he went on, nothing more than random hook ups in hotel rooms-or bathrooms or in a club, wherever. He knew he definitely didn't want that coming out. His sex life was his own.

They arrived back at the Palm Woods, James parking in his usual spot. He killed the engine and they both got out, he paranoidly locking it with the keychain remote several times. A protective hand on Camille's lower back once more, he led her inside to the lobby, waving at the people he knew who were still hanging around as they made their way to the elevators.

One was already waiting and they got in, hitting the number two for his floor. He figured she'd wanna come to his place to see if Logan was back from his boring ass lecture yet. And if not, she'd probably wanna hang out until he did return.

"Thanks for coming," she stated when the doors were closed and the elevator in motion.

He smiled looking down at her. "Thanks for inviting me. It was fun."

She smiled back up, slight dimples forming on her cheeks. "Yeah, it was. We need to do it again sometime. Maybe with Logan and a date of your own." She nudged him with her side, smirk on her face and in her dark eyes.

He just chuckled as he faced forward, elevator dinging as it arrived on his floor. Letting her exit first, he followed her down the hall to his apartment, hand smoothing down the back of his hair, trying to already think up an excuse to not go along with her plan.


	6. Chapter 5

_**A/N:**__ "NHL Live", NHL Network, Minnesota Wild, and Xcel Energy Center are all property of the NHL. "E! News" is property of the E! News Network. Deb Placey, EJ Hradek, Ryan Seacrest, and Jason Kennedy are all real people and I guess property of themselves. Once again, I know Twitter isn't in the BTR showverse, but it's just cooler than freaking Scuttlebutt. The name "New Town High" is property of "BTR" and I know Camille isn't actually on it in the show, but once again, artistic license means I get to change things up a bit. And finally, "Cover Girl" is a BTR song, but let's pretend it's just one of James' songs, since he's a solo act._

_Think my ass is now properly covered. So on with the update!_

* * *

Kendall spent the day after his first NHL game lazing around, mostly recovering. He was still aching, but not too bad. He stretched himself out a lot, hitting the gym of the apartment building and getting on the treadmill for a little while. Nothing too major, just a couple miles.

Around five Minnesota time, he had to call "NHL Live" to talk to them about his first game, his first goal, about the pressure put on him as a top AHL prospect now in the NHL. In all honesty, he never really thought about the pressure aspect. Sure, he knew people were talking about him, knew a lotta fans were counting down the days until he'd be in the premiere league. His debut was a highly anticipated thing for Wild fans.

And yeah, he was also aware of what hockey experts thought of him. His mom was constantly emailing him links to articles and blogs about himself, the writers commenting on his pure talent, about how untainted he seemed to be by certain methods or procedures, how hockey came from his heart and soul. And that was true. He never really thought about ihow/i to play; he just played.

But not once did he ever let the praise get to his head. Not once did he think about how many fans were waiting on him, counting on him to help their team out. He shoved all the expectations, all the assumptions about how great a player he'd be, all the predictions to the side. He didn't give a shit. He only wanted to be on the ice, not thinking, not caring. Just playing.

And that's exactly what he told Deb Placey and EJ Hradek over the phone as he laid on his bed in his room. Carlos was in the living room, volume on the TV down, but watching the show. Not a shocker really. Kendall thought maybe the only channel they got the NHL Network, not that either of them would care. But considering how it was constantly tuned to that station, that's how it felt.

Phone call wrapped up, he messed on Twitter, seeing a lotta mentions of his interview. Several fans were talking about how stoked they were he was finally with the Wild. Some praised his goal and how great a team he and Jett made on the ice. A few girls even commented on how hot Kendall was. That made his eyebrows raised and lips purse. He knew he wasn't ugly, but he didn't think he was "drop dead GORGE!" as one girl stated. The "I'd go gay for him" tweet made him let out a "whoa".

Pulling up a new tweet window, he quickly typed one up.

"_Just got interview by at-nhllive. So cool! Check that off the bucket list. #MNWild_"

He hit send then closed his Twitter app as he sat up, hand running through his hair, legs twisting to the side so his feet were on the ground. His mind was on his interview, his first _big_ interview really. He knew Carlos was watching, and if his mom wasn't, she was definitely DVR-ing it, maybe doing both. But he couldn't help but wonder if James was watching, too. He didn't know why he would be. James was probably off being a rock star somewhere, maybe at a soundcheck or a meet-n-greet, some shit like that. There was no way he was thinking about Kendall. The blond had more or less guaranteed it by pretty much cutting the brunet out of his life.

With a harsh sigh, he rose up to his feet, shoving his iPhone in his pocket before leaving his room. His stomach was growling, reminding him it was nearly dinner. Best way to deal with a lonely heart was to stuff it full of carbs and proteins.

* * *

Kendall woke up in a better mood the next day. How could he not? It was game day! He understood the need to have days off in between, to give players a chance to recover, their bodies to heal some, some teams needing to travel. But that didn't mean he wasn't bored and unhappy.

He headed off to morning skate at the Xcel Energy Center, most of his teammates there with him, along with his coaches. They ran drills, shooting the puck, working on passing as well as various plays. A couple hours of this, and they were free to go.

Carlos was slobbing it on the couch when Kendall entered the apartment, giant bag of chips on his torso as he laid there, crumbs all over his sleeveless tee, orange dust all over his lips and chin. He was not a clean eater. At least not when he was at home.

"What's up, Keeeendall?!" He asked, mouth full of Doritos.

The blond cocked an eyebrow as he made his way into the living room, pointing at the Latino male. "You're cleaning that shit up."

The smaller boy just rolled his eyes, shoving more triangular tortillas in his mouth. "Whatever."

The hockey player let out a sigh as he sat in his recliner, pulling his phone out and checking his messages. Nothing new. No missed calls either.

A quick glance at the time as he worked out the math in his head for when he needed to leave, then he put the smart phone on his lap, flipping out the footrest then turning his attention to the TV. It took him nearly a minute to realize what his roommate had been watching.

"Seriously, 'Litos?"

The smaller male turned his head to him, confusion on his face. "What?"

"'E! News'? What the fuck?"

He shrugged, hand in the bag. "One, there is nothing else on. Two, I actually _enjoy_ this show." Kendall rolled his eyes and snorted. "And three, the beginning mentioned something about James."

That got Kendall's attention.

He kept his gameface on, despite the fact that his heart had stopped then started up at double speed, his stomach twisting in knots, and his palms sweating. Trying to act nonchalant, he got comfy on the chair, resting his right elbow on the arm and resting his chin on his fist. "What'd they say?"

"Dunno, missed it. Just saw a quick photo of him leaving some restaurant." More Doritos shoved in his mouth. Kendall wasn't sure why he was surprised Carlos could fit so many in that big gob of his.

He nodded, still acting like it was "whatever" when his mind was going a million miles a minute. What restaurant was James at? Was he with someone? He was pretty sure Logan had moved out to LA with James a couple months ago. Maybe he went with him.

What if he was with a date?

That stopped Kendall's heart dead, sinking it to his still-knotted stomach. There were never any rumors about James' dating life. Sure, he was pictured with the hottest models, actresses, and singers at various award shows, parties, and events, but there was never a repeat, so to speak. He'd gained a reputation for being kind of a whore-much like in high school-some gossip about him hooking up with random people in hotels, only to never see them again. Which Kendall couldn't blame him for. He was young, rich, famous, and the most gorgeous man to have walked the earth. Of course he was bound to take advantage of the countless opportunities presented to him, including ones that led to him getting laid.

So who knew? Maybe this was another one-and-done type of situation, dinner then a homemade movie with another random chick whose name the popstar would forget the next day. Kendall was well aware of James' sluttiness in high school. He could handle it then, so he could handle it now.

Right?

Unless it was more than another one nighter.

Kendall refused to think about that.

"_Welcome back to 'E! News', I'm Ryan Seacrest._"

The hockey player rolled his green eyes at the orange douche currently polluting his flat screen. He paid good money for the hi-def resolution on it, plus the extra cash he was shelling out monthly for all the HD channels. To have it wasted on showing the different shades of this guy's frosted tips and the lines his botox hadn't quite gotten rid of seemed like a travesty.

The Oompa-Loompa in a Tom Ford suit blabbed on and on about who gave a shit what before one phrase caught Kendall's ear.

"_And does James Diamond have a 'Cover Girl' of his very own? Here's Jason Kennedy with the latest in couples news._"

A graphic flashed by on the screen, cheesy ass hearts with swirly font spelling out 'Couples News', then the shot changed. Kendall watched what was clearly paparazzi footage of James leaving some Hollywood restaurant, megawat smile on his face as flashbulbs went off. Photogs were screaming his name, along with the name "Camille", and the singer just waved, asking them all how he was doing.

"_Paparazzi caught singer James Diamond leaving STK in Downtown Hollywood last night holding the hand of 'New Town High' star Camille Roberts._" The male voice-over paused as the screen showed a still shot of James and Camille, who was hiding behind him, their hands clearly clasped tight. Kendall felt a tight constriction in his chest but tried not to show it.

The voice-over continued, a few other still photos shown of the twosome, hands still together, as he helped her in the car.

"_Patrons of the restaurant say the couple were laughing and having a good time, spending over an hour there. And, of course, Diamond was the perfect gentleman, helping her put on her jacket and get in the car. Calls to their reps weren't returned so for now, rumors are flying about a possible relationship between the two young stars._"

The 'Couples News' graphic flashed again, the story changing to Brangelina-for a fucking change-and Kendall zoned out.

He figured the day would come when James would be tired of his manwhore ways and long for something more, something real. The blond figured it wouldn't take that long. The brunet had a huge heart, one that broke easy, causing him to put up walls. But the hockey player knew the singer wouldn't keep them up forever, knew that one day, he'd find a girl that could get past them and knock them down. But Kendall didn't know how to deal with it now that the day appeared to actually be here.

Smearing his hand over his face, he ignored the pain in his chest, the nausea in his stomach, and the buzzing in his head. Everything was fine. Everything was fine. Everything was fine.

"I don't think that's true," Carlos stated, mouth full of Doritos.

Kendall dropped his hand on his lap, confusion on his face. "Huh?"

"That thing with James and Camille Roberts. I don't think it's true."

He really didn't wanna hear it. The last thing he wanted to do was disect the love life of the guy he'd been in love with for-who the fuck knew how long. He just wanted to head to the kitchen, round up some grub, and get ready for tonight's game.

But his morbid curiosity wasn't on board with that plan.

"What makes you say that?" he found himself asking before even realizing it.

The smaller male didn't even look at the taller, eyes focused on his Doritos bag as he shoved his hand in again. "Well, for starters, James doesn't _do_ relationships." He pulled his hand out, only putting a couple in his mouth this time. "Secondly, I'm pretty sure Logan mentioned something about dating some chick named Camille, so maybe that's her." He paused to swallow. "'Cause, I dunno 'bout you, but I couldn't date a chick who had the same name as my best friend's chick."

"You don't date, period," Kendall pointed out. "And you never will if you keep referring to females as 'chicks'."

Carlos just shrugged, seeming fine with that as he continued his current habit of stuffing his face.

The hockey player let out a sigh, shoving the footrest of the recliner back, hearing it pop into place. Grabbing his iPhone, he stood up and headed to the kitchen to find food for himself. Busying himself with dinner seemed better than dealing with what was just on the TV, regardless of how true it was.

He hoped like hell it wasn't.


	7. Chapter 6

**_A/N: _**_Okay, I'm half dead right now cause I went to an NFL game last night and didn't get back til wayyyyyyyy late so I'm tired as fuck and if there are any typos/grammatical errors/whatever, forgive me. Brain is not with it._

_This fic is still a lil slow, but it's gonna start to pick up, I swear. Um...yeah I have no clue what else to say. Like I said, tired as fuck, feeling like a zombie. Oh! Review please! It would be nice :)_

* * *

The front door slamming was clue number one that Logan was pissed.

Clue number two was the pillow he threw at James, who was lounging innocent on the couch.

Number three was obviously the "What the fuck?!" the spikey haired one yelled out, voice cracking.

James grabbed the orange square pillow that had landed perfectly on his face as he sat up, tossing it on the other section of couch that ran parallel to the TV. Confusion took over his face, eyebrows furrowing as he fixed his hair. "Dude, what the fuck yourself?!" he yelled back, hard hazel eyes narrowing on his roommate.

"You're dating Camille behind my back?!"

Now the taller male was _really_ fucking confused. Didn't they have that discussion the day before? And didn't it lead to Logan getting pissed about James jacking it in the shower?

"You're out of your mind," the singer replied, rolling his eyes and his turned his head back to the TV.

Which Logan promptly stood in front of, switching it off, arms folded over his chest. "It's all over the TV, all over the internet, all over Twitter." He switched to some girly ass voice that made James seriously question his friend. "'James Diamond and Camille Roberts spotted having romantic meal out in LA.' 'James Diamond and Camille Roberts caught not-so-sneakily out on a date.' 'James Diamond-'"

"Okay!" the younger male interrupted, holding his hands out. "Okay, I get it. Shut up." He dropped his hands on his lap, letting out a sigh. "I told you yesterday nothing was going on and nothing's changed. She. Is. My. _Friend_." He made sure to enunciate each word, wondering when the hell they had switched brains and Logan had become the slow one. "Dude, I swear there is _nothing_ going on between me and Camille. I wouldn't do that to you."

The spikey haired one snorted, rolling his eyes. "Right, because you're known for your celibacy and not flirting with every girl out there."

Now the other male rolled his eyes. "Yeah, but so far, I've never broken any code, such as the No Hitting On a Best Friend's Girlfriend Code." He gave a pointed look to the shorter male, wordlessly reminding him of the time Logan broke the "No Borrowing Underwear Code".

The elder didn't take the bait. "Doesn't mean you won't break one in the future."

Feeling himself getting pissed, the singer smeared a hand over the top of his head, smoothing his hair down. "Logan, seriously," he started, trying to remain calm, trying to remain reasonable, even though that was usually the other guy's thing. Seriously, when had they Freaky Friday-ed? "There is _nothing_ there."

"Why should I believe you?"

"Because I'm telling you the truth!" He turned so his feet were flat on the ground, hands slightly outstretched and widened in a pleading sort of way. "I don't see Camille in that way."

The student pursed his lips, making a weird "pffpht!" noise, shaking his head in disbelief. "You see _every_ girl that way."

James' frustration reached a boiling point, his hands going on top of his head and tugging on his hair. That's when he knew it was serious, when he was willingly fucking up the brown strands.

He knew there was no other way to prove it, no other way to get Logan off his back about this paranoid bullshit that had taken root in his so-called genius mind and was clearly refusing to leave. Which left James with no other option. He needed to just come out with it, so to speak.

Standing up, he turned to face his best friend of over a decade, hands out to his sides. "I'm gay," he announced, before dropping the limbs with a slap against his thighs.

Logan looked stunned for a moment, not moving, not speaking. It took him a _long_ moment before he snapped out of it and replied. "What?"

"I'm gay," he repeated, hooking his thumbs in the back pockets of his tight jeans. "I like men. I only flirt with women because that's what my mom wanted. It's also why all my dates have been on the downlow, because they were all with guys and no one knows I'm gay. Well, Kelly knows, but only 'cause she caught me checking out the ass of some male intern who had this really tight jeans and they just hugged his co-"

"Okay!" the shorter male was the one to interrupt this time, hands out in front of him like he was tryna keep that visual as far away from him as possible. "I really don't need to hear the rest of that." He dropped his hands, slapping them on his thighs, before sliding them up so they were on his hips. "So. You're really, actually gay."

The taller one nodded, head hanging, rubbing the back of his neck. "Yeah," he replied lowly.

"I honestly had no idea."

James felt a little impressed with himself for actually managing to get one over the smarty pants. First time for everything he supposed. "Maybe I should've become an actor instead of a singer," he said with a smirk.

"Yeah, maybe." Only Logan didn't seem amused.

The singer felt his stomach drop. Maybe coming out was a bad idea. Sure, it got his roommate off his back about a non-existent affair, but now he might've lost his best friend in the process. "Look, if you're uncomfortable with this or-"

"James." His name was spoken at a low volume, like the elder male couldn't believe what the younger was saying. Logan walked over, putting his hands on James' shoulders and looking him square in the eye. "You're my best friend and I love you like a brother. Who you fall in love with doesn't change anything."

The singer let out a relieved sigh, his body slumping like he'd had a rod going straight up his back holding him up, only to have it be released with the other male's words. He just had no idea how badly he needed to hear them. "Thanks, man."

"You should really tell people though, come out, ya know? It would make you feel a lot better."

The taller male nodded, seeing the shorter's point. "Yeah, but then I'd have to tell my mom..." He trailed off.

The shorter's face looked like he sucked on a lemon, and Logan never did do well with sour shit. "Ooh. Yeah."

"I think I'll stay closeted for a while."

Logan nodded. "Good idea. And you know, your secret's safe with me."

"I know. Thanks. Again." James gave him a grateful smile, glad his best friend was so open and understand, glad he had moved in with him, regardless of the reasons. There was no fucking way he'd be able to do it alone, not without Mommy Logan around.

Logan returned the smile. "Anytime."

The two of them stood there for a brief moment, not speaking, not moving. Then James realized something. "You gonna move your hands? Li'l weird."

"Oh," Logan looked embarrassed, immediately dropping his hands and taking a step back. "Right. Sorry."

The singer decided to have some fun with his clearly flustered friend, a smirk forming on his face, amusement sparkling in his hazel eyes. "Look, just 'cause I'm gay doesn't mean you get to hit on me all the time."

Embarrassment gone, the other male glared, brow drawn. "I was _not_ hitting on you."

"Whatever. Lie to yourself all you want, Logie Bear. You know you love me as more than a brother." Walking around his friend, he couldn't resist reaching back and smacking the shorter male's ass.

"That's it!"

James didn't have time to turn around, much less brace himself. Logan launched himself at the taller male's back, knocking them both onto the ground, landing on the hardwood with a loud thud and a "fuck!" The singer turned over, the student falling off, but still managing to straddle the other guy. James reached up and grabbed Logan's wrists before the smaller male could punch him. Not that it would hurt or anything. But his face was his money maker-along with his voice, duh-and he didn't need it getting damaged.

"Get off me, you freak!" the singer growled.

"Not until you apologize!"

"I regret nothing!"

They continued to struggle, and James wondered how the hell he wasn't overpowering Logan and his scrawny ass chicken arms. He clearly needed to hit the gym soon.

Right as he was contemplating his next free moment so he could do just that, the door opened. Both James and Logan tilted their heads to see Camille-who was upside down to James-walk in, confused look on her face.

"Do I even wanna know?" she asked, pointing to the two of them.

"I'm gay!" the taller male yelled out before the shorter could come up with some reasonable explanation. Plus he just wanted to piss Logan off some more.

"What?!" Success!

Logan scrambled to get off James, glaring down at the other male, who was laughing in amusement. "Dick," he muttered, gently kicking him in the side as he walked over to his girlfriend. He wrapped his arms around her, pulling her close and kissing her nose. "Hey, you."

"Hey," she replied, locking eyes with him.

James rolled his own hazel orbs as he got off the ground, wiping the dust and dirt of his ass before adjusting his graphic tee around his waist. Ignoring the couple making goo-goo eyes a few feet away, he walked back to where he'd been seated on the couch, grabbing his iPhone. A sense of relief washed over him, glad he had taken the device out his pocket earlier, long before Logan tackled him to the ground. iPhones, while awesome, were not known for being indestructible.

He pulled up his messages, as Camille spoke up.

"Wait, were you serious about being gay?"

He found Kelly Wainwright's name, the one sane, normal female in his life, the female who somehow managed to make his producer/manager/whatever Gustavo Rocque tolerable and _not_ kill the singer. "Yep," he answered the female in the apartment as he opened up a text to the one who was more than likely at the studio, sounding more like he had agreed to pizza for dinner, rather than confirmed his homosexuality.

"Wow. How long have you known?"

He shrugged, typing on the touch screen, requesting a meeting with her and Gustavo ASAP. "Since I was thirteen, maybe before. Never really was into girls, guys were always more appealing. So." He ended it with a shrug, acting like the whole thing was no big deal. Which was weird. He'd been in the closet nearly half his life, hiding this major secret, knowing it would change not only his own life, but the lives of those around him. But now, he was somewhat open with it, like telling Logan had lifted some sorta weight off his shoulders and he could handle being out. At least to the two of them.

His mom was a whole 'nother beast.

He finished his text and hit send, tossing his phone back on the couch before turning to his friends. They were standing there, side by side, arms around each other's waists.

"Just so you know," she started, "you being gay changes nothing in my eyes. I still love you like a brother."

"Same here," Logan added, smile on his face.

James swallowed hard, fighting back the emotion. It was a habit from when he was growing up, his mom drilling it into his head that showing how you felt was a weakness, that it wasn't something one did. 'Course she had needles and toxins to hide her expressions, which they weren't supposed to talk about. If word got out that the founder and CEO of Diamond Cosmetics used Botox, shit would hit the fan for sure.

But as James stood there, looking at his two best friends, the two people he felt closer to than his own family members, he struggled to remember why holding shit back was a bad idea. Sure, laying your heart out on the line like that left you open and vulnerable, making it easier for people to stomp all over it and hurt you. But the way Logan and Camille were smiling at him, he knew he wasn't at risk. They accepted him, fully, wholly, completely. And most importantly, they loved him, regardless of who he loved.

Was enough to bring a tear to a guy's eye.

He sniffed, determined not to let them fall, not that it mattered. Judging by Camille's face, the way she said "Aww, James", and how she was walking over with her arms outstretched, she clearly knew.

She wrapped her arms around him, snuggled her head into his broad chest, his arms going around her shoulders. Her shorter stature made it easy for him to rest his chin on top of her head, eyes locked on Logan. Oh, shit. The two of them had just been arguing about whether or not something was going on between the taller male and the female he was currently hugging. This probably didn't look too good.

Only Logan wasn't pissed. The corner of his lips were still pulled up in a smirk as he walked over to the twosome. Camille opened her arms, James doing the same, and they both pulled Logan into the embrace.

A satisfied sigh left the singer's lips, relief flooding over him, his body relaxing. Knowing the two people in his arms had his back made him feel a whole lot better, but he also knew it was just the beginning and that not everyone was gonna be as accepting. He was gonna get hate. He was gonna get death threats. He was gonna get his ass beaten. He was gonna have to deal with his mother.

The last one was the scariest of all.

But for now, he was perfectly happy and content where he was.

Until his phone beeped.

"Uhh, guys," he started. "I need to get that. It's probably Kelly."

Logan parted immediately, never really comfortable with hugging guys. Camille rubbed James' back reassuringly before unwrapping her arm and stepping over to her boyfriend.

The taller male headed back over to the couch, grabbing his phone and seeing he was right. The text was from Kelly, and she was calling for a meeting now.

He took a deep breath, replying with a quick "on my way", pocketing his iPhone once it was sent. Turning to his friends, he saw them in their previous stance, side by side, arms around each others waists. "I gotta go," he told them, smoothing the top of his hair down. "Got a meeting with Kelly, gonna try and clear these rumors about me and Camille up."

"You gonna talk to her about coming out?" Logan questioned, seeming unsure of the singer's response. Worry was in his chocolate eyes, uncertainty causing his brows to slightly lift, like he had no idea what to expect next. And in all honesty, James was clueless as well.

With a shrug of his shoulders, the younger male shoved his hands in his pockets, feeling unsure about everything as well. All he knew was that his life was about to take a major change. He just hoped it was for the good.


	8. Chapter 7

_**A/N: **__Nothing really to say here, other than an apology for how late this update is. Been pretty busy here lately so haven't had time to post this. Um, usual crap about me not owning BTR, Gustavo Rocque is amazing, HE'S AMAZING, and...yeah. Enjoy!_

* * *

Gustavo Rocque's office at Rocque Records was one James was incredibly familiar with. It was in that very room that the producer had told the singer he couldn't stand him and his pretty boy looks. Only to get a slap to the head from his female assistant who threatened to quit and take James to his rival Hawk Records. James was signed on the spot, soley because Gustavo didn't want the other label owner having an upper hand with a musician who wasn't "all that terrible, I guess."

That day had changed James' life, and while his stomach was currently in knots and his knee was shaking up and down as he sat in the black leather and steel chair, he wasn't entirely sure if the same thing was about to happen.

He felt like he was lying to himself.

Again.

"So," Gustavo started, leaning forward, elbows on his desk and fingers steepled. He was wearing another one of his gaudy hoodies, this one black covered in gold skulls, matching fitted cap, black rimmed sunglasses with amber lenses. As hideous as the singer found those shades, he knew it was less creepy than having to actually see the other male's eyes. When those were visible, the leaner male knew he'd fucked up.

"What are you doing here?" the produced finished, lips pursed within his goatee, the beard fuzz a little too long for James' taste.

The singer ran his fingers through his hair, smoothing it down. He knew better than to tell Gustavo he needed to do something. He'd made that mistake a couple years ago when he suggested the producer try wearing something a little less... _horrible_. Gustavo gave the orders in that building-and on the bus and where the show was that night etc etc-and James was his dancing puppy who was supposed to do what he was told.

But at that moment, for the sake of his friendship with Logan, he needed to be the one to voice the commands.

"It's these rumors about me and Camille-" he started, only to get interrupted by the much larger male.

"Aren't they great?!" A huge smile was on his face, obscuring his way too large sideburns that belonged back in the fifties, at least.

The singer was confused, unable to see the other male's point-of-view in this. "No, they're not. My best friend came home threatening to kick my ass because he thought I was sleeping with his girlfriend. Which I'm not, by the way."

"Who cares if it's the truth?!" Gustavo practically yelled, volume control never really being his thing, as he leaned back, arms out to the side. He folded his hands on his rounded belly as he looked pointedly at the singer sitting across the black desk from him. "The publicity is great!"

"Searches for your name have increased a hundred-and-seventeen percent," Kelly stated matter of factly, standing to Gustavo's right, brown leather binder in her arms as always. "You're on TMZ, Perez Hilton, E! News, Access Hollywood, Extra, the works. And sales for your latest single have gone up another fifty percent, putting you back in the top five on iTunes."

James' eyebrows went up, feeling pretty damn impressed with himself. Plus it was always awesome to hear that his music was selling, and selling well. But he quickly put his serious, somewhat angry and frustrated face back on, determined to sort this shit out and pretend he didn't care about his sales or publicity.

He figured he could try and get the "sorting this shit out" part handled.

Not caring about sales or publicity was pretty much impossible.

"Look," he started, scooting forward in his chair, hands out in front of himself. "I don't care. This shit is ruining my friendship. It needs to stop, needs to go away. I wanna released a statement saying that Camille and I are just friends, always have been, always will be, and _nothing_ even _remotely_ romantic is going on between us." He gave Kelly a pointed look at the end of his spiel, fully aware that she'd know how serious he was and how true that statement was.

Gustavo clearly noticed the look, head whipping back and forth between his assistant and his "dog". "What was that?"

"What was what?" the lone female replied, nervous laugh edging her words, a dead giveaway that she was lying. She knew exactly what her boss was referring to, just like she knew what the look from the singer had meant.

Gustavo pointed back and forth between the two of them. "That look. Am I missing something here?"

The singer let out a heavy sigh as he hung his head, hands clasped as his elbows rested on his knees. He knew eventually he'd come out of the closet. He just figured it would be on his own terms, when he was ready, when he wanted the world to know because it felt like it was the right time-if such a thing existed. But he found himself announcing his sexuality for the second time that day, way before he was ready, all because of some bullshit rumor about him and his best female friend.

Lifting his head, he focused his hazel eyes on his producer's bug-eye sunglasses. "I'm gay."

"Huh?"

"I'm gay. I like men. That's why this bullshit about me and Camille is just that. Bullshit." He leaned back in his chair, hands resting loosely on his knees, legs spread. He looked relaxed, easy-going, like he hadn't a care in the world, when inside, he was freaking out. He knew there was no way he'd get dropped-mostly because Gustavo knew he'd be sued for it and there was no way the producer was gonna let his company flop after building it back up. Which, to be totally honest, was because of James, so to drop his biggest act was a move that even the not-so-genius singer knew was pretty fucking stupid.

"Oh." Despite the horrible shades and the low brim of his hat, James could still see Gustavo's eyebrows shoot up, his mouth remaining in that "O" formation. He clearly hadn't seen that coming. James didn't think anyone would. His reputation as a manwhore followed him from high school to his music career. Only instead of it being an endless supply of females he shared a bed with-so to speak-he was hooking up with guys instead.

"Yeah." The taller male started rubbing his hand over his hair again, once again uncomfortable and unsure about the situation, about what was gonna happen, about how his producer was gonna react.

At least he hadn't yelled.

Yet.

"We could release a statement about James being gay," Kelly stated, looking back and forth between both males. She seemed like she was trying to calm down Gustavo before he blew up, his silence more scary than his screams. "It worked for Adam Lambert. His _Rolling Stone_ cover was the highest selling copy in the magazine's history. And Lance Bass got a book deal and a gig on 'Dancing With the Stars'."

James made a face. He wasn't that big an attention whore to where he'd do that bullshit reality show, no matter how much he loved dancing.

"We could make a few calls, get you on the cover of _People_ magazine-" Her iPhone was already in her hand, fingers pressing things on the touch screen, and the reality hit James. He was about to be outted. His homosexuality was about to be front page news everywhere. His name and the word "gay" were about to be trending topics on Twitter as serious news, not an insult, not a joke. This was happening.

And he so wasn't fucking ready for it.

Shooting up, his hands out in front of him, he let out a few panicked "whoa!"s, eyes wide. "No. No way. I'm not coming out."

"Why not?"

"I'm not ready!" He took a deep breath to calm down, figuring if he acted more level and reasonable they'd be able to see his side of things and go along with what he wanted, not what would get him more publicity. Weird how he was suddenly not so concerned with getting his name out there more.

Voice more calm, he continued. "When I come out, I want it to be because I'm ready, because I feel like it's the right time, and for the right reasons. Saying I'm gay just to shoot down rumors that I'm dating a female actress just doesn't feel right to me. I can't do it."

Kelly's face was one full of sympathy and understanding, which he was grateful for. Ever since he'd gotten signed, she'd looked out for him, fighting with Gustavo when the producer was treating him unfairly, giving him advice. She'd been the first one to even flat out ask James if he were gay and was the first person he'd ever felt comfortable enough to give her an honest answer. And while she didn't feel like a mom-mainly because she was too young and because his idea of a "mom" was a scary dragon lady and his much too young step-mother-she was definitely like a surrogate older sister.

So for her to take his side wasn't much of a surprised, but definitely appreciated.

Putting her iPhone back in her binder, she nodded. "All right, we'll do it when you're ready. As for those rumors, you can do it yourself if you want. You have a Twitter."

He felt like slapping his forehead. He'd never even considered the Twitter thing.

Mainly 'cause he was too busy coming out to his roommate and dealing with the consequences of that.

Whatever.

He nodded, jumping up to his feet, mood lightened. "Welp, I'm outta here!" Smile plastered back on his face, he turned to head out the office, only to be stopped by Gustavo's "Wait!"

The singer stopped dead in his tracks, spinning around in his boots, smile gone, worry now taking its place.

"Enjoy the rest of your vacation." Funny how the larger male managed to make that sound like a threat. "Starting next week, it's back to work. New songs, new dances, new everything. Now get outta here. I still can't stand you."

James pointed at the producer with both hands, making a clicking noise with his tongue as he winked. Turning around, he left the office, making his way down the hall to the elevators. He passed by posters of previous acts that had been on the label, mostly boy bands, save for one girl group. James' poster was right by the door to the studio. He stood and stared at it for a good hour when it was first put up.

He hit the button to the elevator, waiting for it to arrive, smoothing his hair down once more. He'd come out to three people that day, pretty monumental shit, and he knew it was just the beginning. The admission to those closest to him made him feel more free, feel like a weight had been lifted, but only slightly. He was still hiding his true self, still hadn't fully admitted to everyone who he really was. There was still his parents to tell, not that he was particularly looking forward to that. His dad would be cool with it, always seeming to be the laid back parent who didn't seem to give that much of a shit about anything except his own guitar and his Harley. His step-mom would probably coo and hug him, then offer cookies in her weird habit of treating him like he was seven rather than twenty-three. His birth mom would flip a bitch.

But it wasn't the three parentals in his life that he was focused on. It was the other two males who were such a huge part of his life growing up. Carlos would be okay with it, probably just shrug, smile, and change the subject as his ADD-self was apt to do. Kendall? He had no idea. James liked to think Kendall would accept him no matter what, solely because they had such a long history together. He was the first one he met out of the other guys, back in pre-K. Kendall was the one who'd gotten him into hockey, who was there to listen and offer a shoulder to cry on when James' parents fought-which was quite fucking often-then finally split. Surely Kendall would be there for James now.

But after five years of barely speaking, of the blond pretty much avoiding the brunet, of the two of them rarely even exchanging text messages, James wasn't so sure how Kendall would react to the news of him being homosexual. People change, especially at their age. They were becoming adults, figuring out who they were, learning about life and how to deal with it. Kendall could've been an entirely different person, one who wasn't all that comfortable with James' sexuality.

The thought caused his chest to get tight and he pressed the heel of his hand in between his pecs, rubbing through his graphic tee, like it would actually do something. He knew he hadn't set eye on the blond since high school graduation, but if the brunet was rejected by him or by Carlos, he had no idea what the fuck he'd do anymore.

A ding sounded out, announcing the arrival of the elevator. James boarded it, hitting the button for the lobby, shoving all thoughts aside. He wasn't gonna let himself dwell on any of that negative bullshit. After all, he had no idea when he'd be coming out.

If it ever happened.


	9. Chapter 8

_**A/N:**__ Okay so...um...I feel like I start all my author note's with "Okay so..." Whatever._

_Not sure what all I have to say about this chapter other than hopefully things are starting to pick up._

_Detroit Red Wings and Minnesota Wild are property of themselves and the NHL. The Timberwolves are property of themselves and the NBA. The Vikings are property of themselves and the NFL. The Twins are property of themselves and the MLB. All Wild players are my own characters (minus Jett) so they aren't real people. Overtime Bar is also my own creation, don't steal. But yeah, enjoy the update! :D_

* * *

__The atmosphere in the locker room was once again one of celebration, the Wild beating Detroit 4-2. Kendall hadn't scored, but he had assisted on two of the goals, including the game winner, which was shot by Jett. As egotistical as the guy was, he was a great left hand shot and he and Kendall made a good team. Which was a hard pill to swallow.

"Good job, rook," the aforementioned winger stated, ruffling the blond's still wet hair.

Kendall turned and gave him a half smile before pulling his black hoodie over his head. It was all he was capable of. The game had been a close one, remaining tied at two until the last five minutes of the third. Frustration had built up inside the center as his shots were constantly kicked away or gobbled up by the Red Wings goalie. Plus, if he were perfectly honest, that rumor about James and Camille Roberts had nagged at the back of his mind, like a mosquito bite he knew he shouldn't scratch. But when he was on the bench of in the locker room during the intermissions, he started scratching anyway.

With a harsh sigh, he grabbed his iPhone, checking texts. The usual "_great game, honey! So proud! xo_" from his mom, Carlos' violent "_You should've busted #25's head in after boarding you in the 2nd!_!", and a "_good game buddy!_" from Logan.

Then a Twitter alert.

From James' Twitter.

He debated if he actually wanted to read it or just delete it without looking. He knew seeing what it said would be a bad idea, especially if it was about Camille. His emotions felt raw after being forced to watch Carlos' bullshit entertainment "news" show and seeing that story about his former friend and still object of his affection supposedly dating some female celeb. But if he didn't read it, his curiosity would drive him nuts, his imagination creating all kinds of horrible possibilities as to what the tweet could say, further fueling his insecurities, paranoia, and heartbreak.

Steeling his spine, he looked at his screen, deciding to just get it over with and read it. After all, nothing could be worse than anything his mind could create.

"_atOfficialJDiamond: Just to clear stuff up, me & atCamilleRoberts are FRIENDS, nothing more. She's got a boyfriend & it's def NOT me! XOXO JD_"

Relief flooded through Kendall, causing his body to relax, shoulders slumping. But it was short lived. As ecstatic as he was that James wasn't dating his actress friend, it didn't mean he wasn't dating anyone else. He pretty much knew the rumors of him hooking up with random girls were true, considering it was reality back in high school. And, yeah, people changed as they grew up, but he didn't know if that would change for James, especially not now. He was young, rich, famous, and definitely still hot as fuck. He'd be dumb not to take advantage of the readily available string of girls who were ready, willing, and able to satisfy his every need.

That happy thought in his head, he closed the door on his small safe in his cubby, closing the cubby door over. He grabbed his duffel, heading towards the exit.

"Yo, Rook!" One of his teammates, a huge brick wall of a dude named Alex Tyler called out, making Kendall stop in his tracks and turn to him. "We're headed out for drinks. Wanna join us?"

The blond rubbed the back of his neck, strongly considering it. Partially because saying no to a defenseman known as "Tyler the Terror" seemed like a huge fucking mistake, teammate or not, but mostly because a beer-or five-actually sounded like a really good plan at that moment in time.

Adjusting the strap of his duffel on his arm, he gave his teammates a smile. "Yeah. Sounds good."

* * *

The group headed to a nearby sports bar called Overtime that was located a few blocks from Xcel Energy Center, easily in walking distance, athlete or not. Several patrons saluted the Wild players as they walked in the door, beers raised up, loud "Hey!"s and "congrats!" and "Fuck yeah, Wild!" being aimed at them. The players thanked everyone, signing autographs and taking pictures as requested.

It was a first for Kendall, being recognized away from the arena, but he figured it was solely because they were barely half a mile away and in a bar that was for sports nuts only. Memorabilia adorned the walls, not just of the hockey variety. Kendall spied some Timberwolves basketball jerseys hung up, Vikings helmets and footballs along another wall. The wall in the back was comprised of several flatscreens all around one massive one, sports on every screen, the largest showing the MLB playoffs, the Twins in it this year.

The impromptu autograph session done, the group of players headed to a table towards the back, lifting themselves onto the high stools. On Kendall's left was Tyler, six-foot-four-inches of pure muscle that he used to his advantage, slamming guys into boards, pounding his fist in others' faces, constantly leading his team in penalty minutes.

On the other side of him was Elliott Carter, first line left winger and a great left handed shot. Also was extremely Canadian. And it wasn't just his accent that gave it away, or that he did some sorta weird stereotypical Canadian shit-although he did have a habit of saying "eh" a lot. It was the the Maple Leaf tat on his left pec over his heart, the Royal Canadian Mounted Policeman teddy bear in his locker, the quirk of putting maple syrup over every breakfast food imaginable. Not to mention his habit of bringing up the Olympic gold medal he won with Team Canada. If he wasn't so damn likable, he'd have the shit beat out of him on a daily basis.

Next was Jakob Larsson, blond haired, blue eyed Swede and first line center. Kendall thought he was a better one, but wouldn't ever voice it. For starters, he was a rookie, and stating out loud that he was better than a veteran, no matter how many years experience he had himself, was a bad fucking idea. So he kept his mouth shut and preferred to just prove it with his actions on the ice instead.

Fifth member of their group was the Russian defensemen, Ilya Romanov. He wasn't as big as Tyler, or an instigator either, but he could still get the job done, checking opponents, blocking shots, shit like that. Also had a superstition of eating the most disgusting smelling shit before every game. It made the locker room stink for hours and caused guys to long for the smell of used socks and sweaty jockstraps.

Then finally, on Kendall's right, was Jett. He supposed the guy was all right. Hell, he was a great right winger, but the problem was he knew he was good looking, too. He was constantly checking himself out in the mirror he kept in his locker, inspecting his jaw from several angles, fixing his clearly manicured eyebrows. Kendall wondered if Jett wouldn't have been better suited in _GQ_ rather than the NHL, but then he'd see the guy on the ice and think differently.

Besides, it's not like Jett was the first pretty boy he'd ever played with.

Not that Kendall was gonna think about that.

Much.

For the rest of the night anyway.

Elbow on the table, he smeared a hand over his face, trying to suppress a groan. He should've been in a good mood, should've been loud and obnoxious like the rest of his teammates, cheering with them as Tyler yelled out for two pitchers of beer and to keep a tab open. But he wasn't. He was moping, all because of some bullshit rumor that was shot down and his own paranoia and self-deprecation tearing himself down.

God, he hated his brain sometimes.

"Yo, Rook." Tyler called for his attention, nudging him in the side with an elbow. Kendall dropped his hand and looked at the defenseman. "Why ya bummin'?"

Yeah, like he was really gonna fucking go there. "I'm just upset because there's a possibility that the guy who I've been in love with for over a decade-who also happens to be an internationally known singer and my best friend since I was four-is with someone else, not to mention he's incredibly straight. Oh, and we haven't spoken in about five years so I have no idea what's going in his romantic life. Plus, there's no way I can even admit that I'm questioning my sexuality because I play in the NHL, one of the most brutal sports out there, and if anyone finds out about it then my ass is a bloodstain on the ice."

Right. That was really a confession he was gonna make.

So instead, he just shrugged, smoothing the back of his hair down, feeling the still-damp strands against his rough, calloused hands. "Just tired. Not used to NHL level hockey yet."

"It's been two games. You can't handle it now, you might not be able to handle it period."

"I can handle it," Kendall argued, putting his hand on the table. "Don't even worry about me."

"Oh, I'm gonna worry about you," Jett spoke up, causing the dirty blond to turn to him with an eyebrow raised. "I mean, look at that face, those eyebrows. How do you expect to get endorsement deals with that mug?"

The other five players at the table rolled their eyes.

"I know what problem is," Larsson spoke up, Swedish accent thick, making it hard to understand him. But still, he had the attention of his teammates. "He have broken heart."

Everyone's heads snapped to Kendall to see his reaction, to see how his face looked in response to the blond's words, before he wiped it away and put his game face on.

Only Kendall was too surprised at being found out that he didn't even think to wipe the shock off his mug.

"Ah, I'm right, ya?"

Feeling his face heat up, a sheepish expression on it, he knew he had no other option but to just nod. "Yeah."

"Girl reject ya?" Tyler questioned.

"Something like that."

A simultaneous "ooh!" sounded out around him, making him think back to when he, Logan, Carlos, and James used to speak in sync at random moments. He highly doubted it would happen nowadays. Partially because that would require them to be in the same place at the same time.

"Yeah," Tyler started, clapping a hand between the center's shoulder blades. "You definitely need that beer."

Their waitress finally showed up, placing a tray on their table. She carefully placed the two glass pitchers of beer in the center, before putting an empty glass in front of each guy. "Anything else?" she asked sweetly, if not a little tiredly. She'd clearly been on her feet for a while, possibly nearing the end of her shift.

"Yeah, get my man here a shot of tequila," Tyler stated, slapping Kendall's back a couple times.

The center's eyebrows went up, green eyes wide. "Whoa, I don't need-" He turned to the waitress, eyes still wide. She was definitely pretty, big brown eyes, curled blonde hair, nice figure. And the smile she gave him caused his heart to skip a beat, a reaction he hadn't felt since he'd decided to torture himself and watch James' latest music video on YouTube. Repeatedly.

Moments like that made him seriously doubt if he were actually gay. Bisexual? Maybe. But definitely not gay.

"So that's a 'no' on the shot?" she questioned, pink shiny lips pursed in question.

"Right."

"Lemme know if you change your mind then." She shot him another smile before walking back. Kendall turned his head to watch, his eyes totally not glued to her ass in those tight jeans and most definitely not admiring the way her hips swayed as she walked.

But when he turned back to the table, the looks on his teammates' faces told him he hadn't fooled anyone.

"Ya know," Carter started. "Best way to get over someone is to get someone new." His Canadian accent made it sound like he said "oover", something that normally amused the center. But not at that moment.

"I'm not looking for someone new."

"Right. So your eyes being glued to the waitress' ass wasn't you looking? What exactly was it about then?" Only he said "aboat" rather than "about".

Kendall shrugged, grabbing his beer that someone had poured for him and drinking.

"If you aren't interested," Jett started, putting his own glass back down on the table. "I'll take her."

Suddenly Kendall was interested. If for no other reason than to spare the poor girl from Jett.

"Maybe another night," the dirty blond spoke. "Tonight, I'm celebrating with my boys."

"Hell yeah!" Tyler yelled out, raising his beer. "To the Wild men!"

The other five at the table did the same, clinking their glass together. All six of them let out a simultaneous "Go Wild!" before drinking deeply.

Kendall placed his glass on the paper coaster, licking the suds off his top lip, green eyes drifting over to the waitress as she delivered shots to a nearby table. Maybe Carter was right. Maybe finding someone new could be exactly what he needed, exactly what would get him over James. It sure as hell wouldn't hurt to try, plus he couldn't remember the last time he'd had a date.

Wait, it was in high school.

No wonder he couldn't remember. He'd tried to forget how fucking pathetic he was.

Yeah, he definitely needed to go out with someone soon. And who better than a pretty blonde with big brown doe eyes? One who was looking over and giving him a smile as their eyes met. One who seemed to be as interested in him as he was in her.

He felt a sudden wave of guilt as he smiled back at her, turning away and focusing his eyes on his beer. He didn't know why. It wasn't like he and James were actually together, so it wasn't cheating. Not technically hurting anyone, considering he was single.

Too bad his heart didn't see it that way.

Shoving all that shit aside, he focused his attention on the conversation at the table, deciding not to think about cute waitresses or handsome rockstars. He had enough shit to deal with when it came to other aspects of his life. And like he'd told his teammates, that night was about celebrating and having a good time.

Taking a drink of his beer, he set out on doing exactly that.


	10. Chapter 9

_**A/N: **__I am so bad at remembering to update this thing, urgh. Um, no real warnings or anything to mention here, other than a plead for forgiveness on how long it took to update this, despite the fact that it's been written for, like, ages._

_Anyhoo. Enjoy!_

* * *

__  
James sent out a tweet before getting in his car at Rocque Records, his mood lightening. He was relieved the rumors were now shot down-although he figured they'd still be spread about, if not about Camille, then about some other random female he'd be pictured next to. Plus, he was now no longer lying to the four people he felt closest to at that time in his life. Sure, he still had to hide it from the rest of the world, but he didn't give a shit. Most of the people whose opinion he actually cared about knew and accepted it and that's all that mattered.

So, yeah, at that moment, he was feeling damn good about life. Until he walked into the apartment and set his eyes on what was happening on his couch.

Camille was straddling Logan as he sat in the corner of the L shaped couch, hands fisting his lame ass cardigan as they made out. One of his hands was on her lower back, sliding under her long sleeve shirt, the other cupping her ass, and overall, it was a sight James could've lived without seeing.

Clearing his throat loud and obnoxiously, he closed the door, walking further into the room.

She pulled away from her boyfriend, smile on her face, lip gloss smudged. "Oh. Hey, James," she greeted him cheerfully, not seeming like she'd just been trying to suck Logan's face into her mouth.

The smaller male just sat there, dazed and paralyzed, pretty much how he always looked after Camille kissed him.

"Hey! Thanks for the mental scars. That was awesome," James stated sarcastically, giving two thumbs up as he walked past the dining table and into the living area of the open apartment. "This couch okay to sit on? Or have you two been fucking on it since I was gone?"

She shrugged and shook her head slightly. "It's fine. We haven't fucked on the couch. Yet." The smirk came back on the last word.

"Not very reassuring." But he still started lowering himself onto it.

"Wait!"

James paused halfway down at Logan's outburst, thankful for a lifetime of hockey, several years of dance, and countless hours at the gym to give him legs strong enough to hold his six-foot-one frame up. But still, squats hurt like a motherfucker and the shorter male needed to make his point before the taller collapsed and/or kicked his ass.

"We aren't gonna have sex on any couches," the spikey haired male told his girlfriend.

"We will when we get our own place."

James let himself fall onto the orange sofa. "Remind me to never sit on your furniture when I visit you guys."

"No problem." Camille smiled as she rested her head on Logan's chest, cuddling into him. His arms wrapped around her more on automatic, kissing the top of her head. "How'd your meeting go?"

"Meh," the singer replied with a shrug. "Kelly wanted me to come out publicly, but I said no, I'm not ready. Oh, and Gustavo knows now. And I took to Twitter to clear the rumors." He focused his attention on the male half of the couple on his right. "I said Camille had a boyfriend that's not me, but didn't say your name. Hope that's cool."

Logan shrugged, jostling Camille slightly. "It's fine."

"Maybe we should go public," she suggested to her boyfriend as she sat up, meeting his chocolate eyes with her own. "It's about time the world knows I have the hottest guy around."

James snorted and rolled his eyes. Both actions were ignored.

"You think we're ready?" the spikey haired one sounded slightly unsure, but that was typical Logan. He had to overanalyze everything from every possible angle-and sometimes some impossible ones-before taking one single step. Annoying as fuck, especially on the ice.

"Yeah." Camille's smile was reassuring, her hands going up and down his arms. "Baby steps. A couple public dates, going out together, then maybe hit up that Young Hot in Hollywood party together next month. James will be there, so you don't have to worry about it too much."

Logan's lower lip stuck out as he nodded, a sign he was seriously considering it. "All right. Let's do it. Let's go public."

She squealed, arms wrapping around his neck as she rested her forehead on his. "I love you, Logie Bear."

"Love you, too. Mill-Gram."

"Ugh." James rolled his eyes again. "You guys are gonna make me puke."

The actress turned her head to the singer, eyebrow cocked. "Seems like _some_body's jealous."

The tall male snorted. "Of what?"

"We're in a relationship and you aren't."

Another eye roll.

"Have you ever actually _been_ in a relationship with a guy?"

He resisted another eye roll, aware that Camille hadn't known him all that long, therefore didn't know everything about him. Truth was, James was never the relationship type, mainly because all he dated in high school were females, which wasn't gonna amount to much as a gay male. But he was okay with being single. He had his music and his career to satisfy him mentally and emotionally. And if he ever needed anything more physical, there were always random anonymous hook-ups in the bathroom of a gay bar.

And yeah, okay, maybe sometimes he wanted more. Especially when he was sitting next to a couple who couldn't keep their hands off each other. And it wasn't just sexual feeling each other up shit. It was cuddling, hand holding, a brief flitting of the hand across the other's back as they passed, random quick meeting of the lips as they watched TV.

As much as James loved music, songs weren't physical beings. They couldn't hug or kiss or touch. And sometimes, if he ever actually let himself think about it, he wanted that.

Looking at Camille, he raised an eyebrow in a "are you serious?" expression, pointing up and down himself with both hands. "Closeted. Remember?"

"Oh. Right." Her mouth twisted in a thoughtful way, before her entire face lit up. The singer could practically see the metaphorical light bulb as an idea formed in her slightly crazy mind. "You should go out with my co-star Dak!"

James' previous "are you serious?" face returned, unable to believe she was trying to set him up just hours after he came out to her. And she wasn't just trying to hook him up with anyone. Oh no, it was the star of a popular teen drama, a huge teen idol, a guy who broke a million fangirl hearts when he went public with his homosexuality, but still graced their bedroom walls-and probably a few twisted fantasies about converting him-Dak freaking Zevon.

It wasn't that he was ugly. From what James could recall from fleeting glances as Logan watched that godawful show-hopefully just to support his girlfriend and _not_ because he actually enjoyed it-Dak was pretty good looking. But the singer wasn't entirely sure dating a high profile actor who was clearly out, while he himself was still in, was such a good idea.

Clearly sensing the uncertainty in the tall male, Camille quickly spoke. "All four of us will go out together. We'll go bowling so it doesn't feel or seem _too_ much like a date, just a group hang, so no worrying about the paps or the public or any rumors. Plus, I know Dak. If you wanna keep it quiet, he will."

"It'll be fun," Logan chimed in. "And who knows? Maybe it'll lead to something more and I'll be able to shower without worrying if you relieved some tension in it earlier." He glared at the younger male, who rolled his eyes for what felt like the millionth time that night.

James ran his hand over his hair, brushing the locks on top of his head with his fingers, eyes focused on the TV. He had no clue what the hell was on. Wasn't there a game that night?

Whatever. He needed to focus on the current conversation. About his romantic life. Which he didn't really have when it came down to it. Sex life? Sure. Actual relationships that lasted more than a couple months? Not so much. Maybe a change was needed. Maybe he should consider actually going on a _date_ with a guy. Not that it was a date, just a group hang, so no pressure. And if things didn't work out in a romantic sense, maybe he could make a new friend, one who could help give advice when it came to being gay in Hollywood. Sure as hell wouldn't hurt.

With a sigh, he dropped his hand, feeling it land with a slap on his thigh. He turned to his friends, mind set, small smile on his face. "Yeah, why not?" He focused on Camille, seeing her eyebrows raise in expectation as she listened to him. "Set it up for tomorrow night. Unless Logan has some lame ass lecture to go to."

The student rolled his eyes. "I'm free tomorrow night."

"Great!" Camille replied excitedly, bouncing slightly, clapping her hands together once. "I'll go call him right now." She climbed off her boyfriend, practically bouncing over to the other side of the apartment where her purse sat on the dining room table.

"James?"

The singer turned his head to his best friend, seeing the serious look on Logan's face, the way his eyebrows were raised in slight concern. "Yeah?"

"You know you don't hafta do this, right? I mean, there's no pressure here so don't feel like you _have_ to go out with Dak just because Camille suggested it. She'd understand if you said no."

"I know, man." He gave the shorter male a reassuring smile, letting him know with actions as well as words that he really was okay with his decision. "I wanna do it. Like you said, it'll be fun. And I haven't had a night of just being a normal twenty-something year old guy hanging out with friends doing normal stuff in, like, forever." He folded his arms over his chest in a relaxed manner, slumping in his seat and getting comfortable. "Plus if it doesn't work out or there's no connection or whatever, maybe I could make a friend."

Logan did the lip pout-nodding-thinking face again as he listened to James' words, seeming to be impressed with how the taller male was rationalizing things. He didn't need to say it though. It was obvious in the way the shorter male raised his eyebrows slightly, a look the singer rarely got from the genius. Whatever. He wasn't out to impress the nerd.

Camille bounced back over, sitting on the couch by Logan's bent legs, wrapping her arms around his knees as she face James. "Dak says he's free and he'd love to go bowling," she announced, huge smile on her face. "He's gonna meet us at Lucky Strikes tomorrow at eight. I figure we can chow down on some greasy bowling alley food, maybe split a pitcher of beer."

James shrugged. "Sounds good to me."

"Me, too," Logan agreed. "Except for the beer part. Someone's gonna hafta drive."

Camille smiled sweetly at her boyfriend. "I love you."

"You love that I volunteer to be the DD all the time."

"That, too."

The couple exchanged stupid grins and goo-goo eyes and all that other romantic, cuddly, fluffy, sickening crap that made James feel like tossing up his dinner.

"Can't you guys do that eye fucking thing somewhere else?" he broke the mood, reaching to grab the remote off the coffee table. "Puking isn't good for the throat, and therefore, isn't good for the voice." He started mindlessly flipping, trying to find something decent on that wasn't...well, wasn't whatever the fuck had been on before.

The synchronized eye roll from the couple went unnoticed, the two of them standing up and adjusting their shirts around their waists.

"Fine. Let's go hang at my place, Logie," Camille suggested, taking the shorter male's hand in her's before walking forward, directly in front of James. "Bye, Jamie." She spoke in a voice one would use with a kid or a pet, before she reached up and ruffled his hair.

"Not fucking cool!" he yelled, glaring at her, knowing that since she was a girl, he couldn't hit her. Which was probably why she kept doing it.

She and Logan both laughed as James pulled his lucky comb out his pocket, quickly fixing his hair. He heard the two of them chattering, but didn't pay attention enough to hear the actual words, mostly because he didn't care. He was too pissed about his hair being messed with.

The couple left, shutting the door behind themselves, leaving James alone in the apartment. Which would also be remedied with a boyfriend. Whatever. He was fine being by himself, always had been. Biproduct of growing up an only child with a mom more interested in her business and a dad more interested in his much younger wife. Besides he always had his friends.

Who were currently not around.

But still, no big deal. He was still okay.

Hair fixed, he slipped his comb back in his pocket, resuming his channel flipping. "NHL Tonight" was on, showing highlights of all the night's games, and he figured he could indulge in some nostalgia. He tossed the remote on the couch next to him, getting comfy once more, one foot on the coffee table. Yeah, that's all he needed at that moment: hockey highlights and memories.

And maybe a beer or two.


End file.
